Just Business
by ally-kat312
Summary: Nine years after La Resistance and the war, Gregory and Christophe are called back to South Park to assassinate Eric Cartman, who has become a serial killer that targets women and fags. Gregory's plan to lure Eric to them? Become gay. Rated T for swearing, death, and yaoi slash. Main pairing is Gregstophe, but Style, Creek, and Bunny also mentioned.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: Can't get enough Gregstophe? Me neither. UGH I READ THROUGH ALL THE GOOD STUFF. So I'm writing my own. Enjoy.)

Gregory sighed as his car's tires hit the off beat, badly kept road. South Park was 5 miles away according to a sign that had been stuck into the ground. Its letters were faded from years of weather and sun. Typical South Park, unable to keep anything in good condition. He hated the town. He had stayed there for a year to see if the countryside suited his family, but South Park was the opposite of the quiet countryside they had been searching for. It was nothing but a loud redneck mountain town. Gregory had thought he found one decent person there, a strong opinionated female named Wendy Testaburger. She had been quite cute too. But she had promptly dumped him for a lanky black haired boy who threw up on her whenever she was nearby. Hearing her say "No, fuck Gregory! Fuck him in the ear!" was the final straw for him. He wanted back to Britain. But it didn't happen. At least he had moved out of South Park and gotten to grow up like a proper child. He even graduated with a 5.0 GPA. But no matter how much he abhorred the town, Gregory had to go back. He was on business. He reached over and flicked the forehead of the man sitting in shotgun, asleep. He awoke with a start and quickly grabbed Gregory's wrist. Gregory smiled in contrast of his partner's snarling features.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty," he said. "We're almost there." Christophe growled and threw away Gregory's hand, cursing in French.

"Zis town… why are we 'ere again?" Christophe grumbled. He had lived in South Park briefly as well, and even died before coming back to life. The story was so incredible, involving guard dogs, Sadam Hussain, a secret organization, and Canadians, that if Gregory hadn't been there himself he would claim the whole thing was made up. Both of them hated the town and immediately frowned at its mention, but as they both knew, business was business. Even if it was in South Park.

Once they had arrived at the given address, both men exited the car, the fairer haired of the two coughing. Christophe had decided to smoke for the remainder of the ride and the stench of road kill kept Gregory from opening a window to let out the smoke.

"Don't be such a leetle beetch," Christophe said in slight disgust, watching as Gregory continuously waved his hand to get rid of the smoke and smooth his already perfectly ironed shirt. Gregory grumbled something in response as he pushed the few strands of hair in his face back. Christophe sighed and grabbed his trusty shovel from the back of the car then began digging a tunnel to get into the house.

"You do realize that they're expecting us Mole," Gregory said. "We can just go and ask politely for them to let us in."

"Fuck zat," Christophe replied, already waist deep in the soil. They had very different ways of thinking, and it frustrated Gregory to no end sometimes. He walked to the door like a civil person and rung the doorbell. He inspected the whole house as he waited for the door to be answered. Every goddamned house in South Park looked the same, save from maybe being different colors. The door to the house opened the smallest crack.

"What's the password?" a vaguely familiar voice whispered. A password? The job had mentioned something about having to confirm his identity using the old password for Viva La Resistance.

"Um… La Resistance?" he tried. The door didn't budge. "Bacon?"

"Yep you're Gregory," the voice said. It closed the door and Gregory heard the muffled sound of a chain bolt being unlocked before the door opened to reveal his newest employer- Stan Marsh.

"I thought there were two of you?" Stan asked. Gregory sighed, then stamped the ground beneath him. An angry shovel was shot up from the dirt, nearly stabbing Gregory's shoes.

"He wanted to take a different route inside," Gregory explained. "Le Mole! Get out of the ground! We need to greet our employer!" A minute later, Christophe had dug himself out of the ground, grumbling as usual. Stan stared at the strange pair, one immaculately fresh and clean Brit and one dirt and scar covered Frenchman.

"Um… c'mon inside guys…" he said. "Thanks for coming I guess."

"Why are we 'ere?" Christophe asked for the second time that day as he and his partner stepped inside the house and closed the door. Stan pointed to an empty couch in his living room. Gregory sat down, his back straight and hands in his lap. Christophe lay back, kicking his muddy combat boots up on the sofa and earning an angry look from his partner. Stan left the room briefly but returned with 3 others. One they recognized as Kenny, the boy who's wish had brought Christophe back to life. The other two were familiar, but Gregory couldn't remember their names. One was shaking as he held the arm of the other tightly, occasionally twitching or screaming and pulling his blonde hair. His shirt was haphazardly buttoned up, his twitching fingers probably not being capable to button the shirt. The other wore a dark blue hat and jacket, his expression bored but he held the nervous boy protectively.

"Guys, this is Gregory and Christophe," Stan introduced. Gregory gave a friendly wave at his name and Christophe just grunted.

"I am Gregory Thorne and this is Christophe DeLorne, or Le Mole. We're mercenaries, assassins, detectives, and what-have-yous for hire," Gregory explained.

"They were at the school a long time ago," Stan said. "Gregory led that La Resistance thing we did, remember?"

"Gah! N-No! Is that bad?" the nervous one asked. He pulled at his messy hair again.

"Calm down goddamn it," the bored one said. He looked at the two and flipped them off. Christophe was about to jump on him if Gregory hadn't held him back.

"Um, don't be offended or anything. That's just what Craig does," Stan said. "Oh, yeah, that's Craig and Tweek. And you guys remember Kenny right?" Gregory nodded, still trying to hold his French partner back.

"Yes yes, I am usually rather fond of small talk, but can you get to the point?" Gregory asked. Christophe looked at him confused.

"You don't know why we are 'ere either?" he asked. Gregory shook his head. "You stupeed beetch! I s'ould 'ave never followed you 'ere!"

"You have no choice Mole, we're a team," Gregory reminded him. "Now, Stanley, if you would please?"

"Just call me Stan," Stan said. "And, well… we need you to kill Eric Cartman."

(A/N: Reviews would be much appreciate. This isn't quite done yet so it'll update rather slowly, but I hope you liked it nonetheless.)


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: Hey look at that, an update! Fun. So anyways I decided this is going to be updated weekly. Also please excuse my terrible French throughout this story. I take Latin at school and I'm just throwing everything into a translation website that isn't GoogleTranslate. Enjoy.)

The nicotine smoke filled the small room as Christophe lit a cigarette. He had wanted to leave right away and hack Cartman to pieces will his shovel without a reason. He had his own, Gregory knew. He had wanted proper revenge on the fat kid who didn't turn the alarms off and gotten him killed by dogs for as long as Gregory could remember. But Gregory was a bit different. He needed a reason for everything. His employers sat across from him and told their story.

"It started a few months ago," Stan said. "A girl from our old class, Nicole, was found dead. She had been brutally murdered and… well it shook a lot of people obviously. But everyone moved on. Until another girl was killed." Stan sighed. "This time… it was Wendy."

"Wendy?" Gregory leaned forward, genuinely upset. He didn't hold any feelings for the girl anymore, but she had been the only almost decent person in this town. He had been curious how she was doing now, and if she had fallen to the stupidity of the rest of the people. He had his answer though- she was dead. Stan continued to talk about how more girls were all killed, throwing out names that sounded vaguely familiar to Gregory.

"But what does this have to do with Eric Cartman?" Gregory asked. "It's all very terrible and tragic, but I don't quite understand."

"Oh well Cartman killed all of them," Stan said. This shocked Gregory and Christophe.

"Zat blubbering fat keed murdered womeen?" Christophe asked incredulously. "You are jokeeng, _oui_?"

"No he really killed all of them," Stan said. "We know because he leaves the girls lying in an alleyway with 'RESPECT MY AUTHORITY' spray painted on the wall."

"My god… he's a serial killer?" Gregory said. "Has anyone done anything to investigate yet?"

"Dude the police force in this town is total shit. What do you expect?" Gregory had his answer. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"So he kills women?" he asked. Everyone in the room shifted uneasily, showing that maybe that wasn't the right answer.

"He kills gays too," Craig answered in a monotone.

"Craig!" Stan said. "Don't say it so fucking casually!" Stan sighed shakily and ran his hand through his hair. "But yeah, it's true."

"… he killed Butters…" Kenny muttered. All eyes focused on him. He had been silent for the whole time, and Gregory had assumed it was in his nature. But now he saw that the blonde's fists were clenched and shaking, and his face was red from holding in tears. "That fucking asshole killed Butters… who would have the fucking balls to kill Butters? He was so innocent damn it!" Kenny covered his eyes with his hands, still trying to hold back tears. Stan reached over and patted his friend's back.

"They were dating," he explained. "For a pretty long time."

"We're all gay!" Tweek suddenly said. "And he… Oh Jesus! He's after us! He killed Kyle too! And I'm next I bet! Th-This is way too much pressure! I can't deal with this! Gahh!" Stan crumpled at the mention of Kyle and Kenny began shaking even harder. Craig growled slightly and shoved a mug of coffee into Tweek's hands and ordered him to shut up and drink his coffee. Gregory and Christophe looked at each other. This wasn't the scene they were used to when dealing with their employers. But this was South Park after all. Gregory tried his best to remember everything he could about the town. He had tried to block his time in the town out of his memory, but he could remember a few things- some faces, some names, a movie, La Resistance. Christophe also seemed deep in thought, but he could also just be concentrating on his cigarette. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes. Either way, they had their hands full.

"So, what ees ze plan Gregory, hm?" Christophe asked, watching his companion pace the floor of the hotel, more like motel, room they were renting. Gregory furrowed his eyebrows, unsure how to answer. They had all the information they needed about the killer- where he lived, hung out, who he was, etc. Usually they would go and kill him right away, but something told Gregory that they had to be more cautious than that. Usually the best course of action, as it was with most killers, was to draw Eric Cartman to them rather than seek him out. That meant they had two options- either turn into women or

"Christophe we have to become gay," Gregory decided. Christophe nearly choked on the cigarette he had been about to light.

"_Quoi_?! What ze 'ell are you t'inking?!" Christophe asked incredulously. "We aren't going to jus become gay beetch! Get your 'ead together!"

"No no, think about it!" Gregory said. "He targets women and gays, right? Last I checked you refuse to wear a suit, let alone a dress, and neither of us are girly so-"

"You are," Christophe muttered.

"NEITHER of us are girly," Gregory said irritatedly, "so cross dressing is out, and a sex change would be terribly expensive as well as useless for later on. So, logically, we need to become gay. Unless you have a better idea."

"_Oui_, I 'ave a better idea," Christophe scowled. "I am going to take my shovul and shove it _dans le cul_!"

"Up my ass? How mature of you," Gregory mocked. "Be serious Mole."

"I am serious!" Christophe said. "You are being rediculous and-"

"God hates gays." That shut Christophe up. Anything that "zat faggot God" hated, Christophe loved. Their plan was going to be simple enough- visit every place their target frequented on a supposed date. Gregory would never date Christophe under natural circumstances- no, who would? He only barely tolerated the hotheaded Frenchman because of his skills and the fact that they were a team. If they were anything else, Gregory would've run him through with his prized sword years ago.

(A/N: Thanks for previous reviews, more are always much appreciate. Update coming next week, watch for it.)


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N: Y'all are so cute, with your reviews and followings and... gah! Makes me happy to know you guys like this story just as much as I do. Updating a tiny bit early because my writing block has beautifully vanished. Enjoy.)

"You look fine," Christophe grumbled as Gregory fidgeted with his shirt collar for the umpteenth time. The Brit just sighed as he stared at himself in the mirror.

"It's our first date love! I need to look perfect," Gregory joked.

"Do not call me zat," Christophe said.

"What, love? But I do so dearly adore you Mole my love." Gregory put his arm around the brunette, attempting to kiss him cheek. Christophe wiggled out of his grip and dusted off his shirt.

"You got your fuckeeng stench on me beetch," Christophe muttered. "*_Je te déteste_… British piece of sheet…"

"This 'stench' you're referring to is my new very expensive cologne!" Gregory was offended. "And I smell like you too- you and your smokes. Really, Mole, get into character- we're lovers. Act like it, and we'll finish this job faster." Christophe continued to grumble and curse in French, but didn't speak back. Both of them knew what this was- strictly business. It was some of the strangest business they'd encountered, but business nonetheless. Gregory finished adjusting his look and held his white gloved hand out to Christophe. He took it, his dirt-caked fingernails and worn fingerless leather gloves clashing with the cleanliness of Gregory's hand pressed silk gloves. But then again, what of theirs didn't clash? Even though Gregory had told him to dress nicely, Christophe was wearing a dirty shirt and jeans, which he claimed was nice because they didn't have any blood on them… yet. And his damn shovel was slung across his back. There was just no taming him. Gregory sighed. It was fine, their plan was simple anyways- go get dinner, then take a walk to Stark's Pond where Eric Cartman supposedly sat on a bench during the late evening hours. They would walk by him, hoping to get noticed. Maybe they'd hold hands or be so bold as to kiss to prove their ruse. That was, of course, only if Gregory had a death wish.

The bubbly drink swirled in the flute as another drink was poured. Usually Gregory limited himself to two, perhaps three glasses of champagne at dinner maximum but good Lord was Christophe a terrible date! The man didn't know his soup spoon from his butter knife! Gregory was already on his fifth glass. He sighed as he rubbed his temples. The restaurant they were in didn't meet expectations either- they hadn't cared that Christophe was dirty and the nicest thing on their menu was a slab of dry meat that was supposedly steak. Christophe chewed on the rubbery thing with persistence. He didn't care what he was eating, as long as it wasn't purposely poisoned or a vegan version of meat. Which was essentially the same thing in his eyes. Gregory quietly poked his meal and drank his champagne. At least South Park knew how to order bottles of nice alcohol.

"So… **'_mon amour_'…" Christophe said the nickname with disdain. "What ees your plan now?"

"Well dinner was a flop to say the least," Gregory muttered. "But that doesn't matter so much I suppose." He checked his watch, rising from his chair. "Eric should be in position around now. Come along darling, we're taking a romantic walk."

It's hard to say what counts as a romantic walk. Could it just be two lovers walking together, arms and gazes wrapped around each other? Flustered crushes trying to hold each others hands before losing the courage? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't a British boy trying to catch the attention of his indifferent fake French boyfriend with an obvious forced smile on his face. Gregory sighed in irritation as his eyebrows furrowed. This arrogant "lover" of his was going to give him wrinkles. Christophe gave him an obvious glare of annoyance as he lit a cigarette. Gregory grabbed him arm to get his attention and pointed to the sky.

"Look, Christophe, isn't the sunset lovely?" he said, smiling with honesty. It was a beautiful sunset, the sun's glare hidden behind the mountains but colors still brilliantly spread through the clouds. Christophe looked at Gregory's hand on him, then at the sunset. He shrugged.

"Eet ees nice I guess," he said. "Much nicer een Paris or Lille." He pronounced both cities with a thick accent. Gregory frowned. Did he have to take the awe out of everything? Christophe was about to pull his arm away from Gregory when a familiar voice spoke from behind them.

"Ohh, so you two weirdos are back." Gregory looked, and nearly lost his calm demeanor. Eric Cartman was sitting on a bench, exactly as they had expected. They had passed right by him and not even noticed. He blamed Christophe's lack of excitement.

"Eric! My, how great to see you!" Gregory smiled. He stuck out his hand for the other to shake. Eric didn't take it, and Gregory awkwardly put it back to his side. "It's been, what, 10 years, more or less?"

"Eet 'as been 9 years," Christophe said, butting into their conversation. "We were fifth grade, non? Zat means we were 12. We are 21 now. Do ze math, meester 'I 'ave a 4-0 grade point average'." Gregory felt himself blush furiously, not just mad about Christophe mocking his grades but also not acting very loving in front of their target that they had to fool.

"Right…" Eric said, not caring in the slightest. "Well, you fags can go now. I just wanted to see if you were really here."

"Fags?" Gregory said, feigning shock. He was buying it.

"You're still a fucking fag dude," Eric said. He looked suspiciously at Christophe. "Well just one fag I guess. I'd say you're dating, but he's too stupid to be gay. So I guess you're not together."

"***_Excusez-moi_? Gregory is _ma petite chienne_," Christophe said, actually sounding offended. It took a good amount of willpower to not laugh at the fact that Christophe had made "my little bitch" sound romantic by saying it in a Romance language. Eric raised an eyebrow, not buying their ruse.

"Oh yeah?" he questioned. "Prove it."

"Fine, because you are being a beetch about eet," Christophe said. Gregory had expected him to take his hand, put his arm around him, or even kiss his cheek. He did not expect Christophe to grab his face and pull him into a rough kiss. Gregory's eyes widened and he blushed. Christophe's lips tasted like dirt, nicotine, and cheap lip balm. Oddly enough, it wasn't the most disgusting combination in the world. Gregory wrapped his arms around Christophe in order to steady himself, as the taller was trying to get deeper into the kiss. An unfamiliar warmth filled Gregory's chest as Christophe's hands moved from his face to waist. After a long, deep, and unexpected kiss, the two drew apart. Gregory looked around, noticing that Eric was gone.

"Where..?"

"I zink 'e left," Christophe said. "I t'ought I 'eard 'im saying something about zis town being taken over by fags." The two men became aware that they were clinging to one another rather intimately and let go, Gregory smoothing his shirt while Christophe ran his hand through his hair, muttering in French.

"I think we fooled him with that kiss," Gregory said, going back to his more professional stance.

"We better 'ave," Christophe said. "Let's go beetch." He walked down the Stark's Pond pathway, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. Gregory followed at his heels, taking in the scent. The intoxicating secondhand smoke almost made him want another kiss. Almost.

(A/N: Shortish update? As always, reviews to tell me if this is progressing well are nice. French translations that you may not know:

*- I hate you

**- my love

***- excuse me?

I don't know French. I'm throwing stuff into a free translation website. Bear with me please.)


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: You guys are great. Seriously. Like... 3. Go. Read on. Enjoy.)

Gregory opened the white blinds, filtering sunlight into the room that bounced off the various floating dust specks in the air. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his blonde hair. Another day in South Park. Whether he liked it or not, he and Christophe needed to keep up their appearance and do it frequently. No time to start like the present. Carpe diem, as the great Roman poet Horace had said. Gregory looked over the sleeping Mole. He was shirtless, his skin dark from the tan he got while digging and the dirt he worked with and covered with various battle scars. He was curled up on top of the blankets, refusing to overheat beneath the comforters. He was surprisingly a deep sleeper. Gregory felt himself smirk, an idea popping into his head. He slowly walked over to his partner, taking off his own shirt. Quickly, before Christophe could wake up, Gregory jumped on the bed, straddling Christophe and pinning his arms to the sheets. He quickly woke up, his alert deep brown eyes meeting Gregory's playful blue-gray ones. Christophe quickly started thrashing, evidently unhappy to be restrained, especially by Gregory.

"*_Qu'est-ce que diable? Putain ! Descendez-moi, avant de vous tuer avec ma pelle!_" he growled. Gregory laughed, keeping Christophe under his control.

"Good morning love," he cooed. "Wasn't last night wonderful~?"

"What ze 'ell are you talking about?!" Christophe said, still trying to get free. "Let go of me you sheet!"

"If you insist." Gregory leaped off of Christophe, and the brunette tumbled off the side of the bed. Gregory chuckled and put his shirt back on as Christophe jumped up from the floor and pulled out the switchblade he slept with, pointing it at Gregory.

"I am going to fuckeeng KEEL you beetch!" he shouted. Gregory ignored him as he gathered files.

"We're going to meet our employers for breakfast this morning at a local coffee shop," he said cooly. "So get dressed and run a brush through your hair. Maybe even shower if you're feeling particularly humane." Christophe scowled and flipped the knife close. He began picking up his clothes from yesterday off the floor.

Gregory sat at the table across from Christophe, quietly sipping some Earl Grey tea he had brought with him from home. They were waiting for their employers to show in a small coffee shop called Tweek Bros. Coffee. The nervous blonde boy was already there, serving them coffee. He brought Christophe some and said something about it being homemade and made fresh everyday, a canned line he had probably been forced to learn, before running off to go do something else. Christophe regarded his drink with curiosity before placing his cigarette in the ashtray and taking a sip. The coffee immediately came back and got sprayed all over the table. Gregory jumped up just in time to keep his favorite orange shirt from being stained.

"**_Qu'est-ce que diable est-ce que c'est_?!" Christophe asked, gagging on the coffee.

"I believe it's called coffee, Mole. You drink it," Gregory said with annoyance, eyeing his now coffee and spit speckled newspaper.

"Eet tates like sewer sheet!" Christophe groaned. "What ze 'ell kind of coffee ees zat?!"

"If you don't like it don't drink it," a monotone voice said. Gregory looked up and saw the black haired boy from yesterday, Craig, standing next to their table with his arm around the jittery Tweek, who was sipping the same disgusting coffee from a large mug. Tweek seemed like he had been a bit hurt by Christopher's reaction so Craig was flipping Christophe off. He offered the same gesture right back at him. Gregory meanwhile cleaned up the coffee spit and profusely apologized in place of Christophe. Stan and Kenny walked through the door as they rest of them were all sitting. They walked over and sat down as well.

"Hey dudes," Stan said. "How's it going?"

"Fantastic!" Gregory said, sugarcoating the best he could. "We saw the target last night at one of his frequented places, and we have a plan!"

"Oh really? Sweet!" Stan grinned. "You guys have no idea how much it means to us that you're doing this. Kyle…" He took a deep, shaky breath. "Kyle deserves justice. And so does Butters," he added, looking at Kenny. Kenny simply nodded and pulled his hood strings tightly, turning away so that the others wouldn't see that he was still emotional at the mention of his dead boyfriend.

"What's your plan?" Craig asked.

"Ah, well, it's a simple luring tactic you see," Gregory said. "With the information you told us, we plan to go and frequent the same places as him. And since we know who he usually targets, we're planning to assimilate one type of his victims so-"

"We are pretending to be gay," Christophe interrupted. "We made out een front of zat fat beetch last night." Gregory turned bright red at the memory and tried to focus on their employers' reactions instead. It wasn't much better.

"Dude…" Stan said insulted. "That's… that kinda hurts. I mean, you're just faking your sexuality? It sorta feels like you're making fun of us…"

"N-No, that's not it at all!" Gregory said quickly, trying to soothe the group with his way with words. Things weren't looking good. Craig was flipping them off with both his middle fingers, Tweek was too stunned to even keep shaking, and Kenny looked either cry or kill them. "Please, try to understand, this is just a way to make Eric target us! If he comes after us, it will be so much easier to finish him off without any trouble! We have nothing against homosexuals, I even know and am friends with a few. Please, this act is strictly strategy. We don't want you to be offended in any way… right, Mole?" The brunette grunted and lit a cigarette, choosing to not really respond. Gregory offered a nervous and hopeful smile. Stan, Kenny, Craig, and Tweek looked at each other, unsure at first but then Kenny shrugged, muttering something about Butters and then got up and left. Stan still looked like he was on the fence but sighed.

"I guess you guys are the professionals," he said. "And if you swear you're just doing it as a strategy and not making fun of us or anything then it's fine…"

"Perfect! I'm glad that's all sorted out," Gregory beamed. "Le Mole and I should have this wrapped up in a few days tops."

"Zen we are getteeng ze the fuck out of zis sheethole town," Christophe said, taking a drag. "Forever. So don't call us back." Gregory scowled and reached over, pulling Christophe's ear as punishment for being so crude. Christophe began yelling some select words in French before grabbing Gregory's hand, yanking it off his ear, and pulling him closer. He put out his lit cigarette on the side of Gregory's face and blew the rest of smoke at him, making Gregory sneer in attempt to contain his anger.

"Not in front of employers damn it," he muttered.  
"What happened to zis morning _mon ami_? You were so 'appy zen," Christophe smirked.

"You're a bitch Mole."

"_Non_, you are ze beetch."

"Are you sure you two aren't actually gay?" Craig interrupted. Gregory and Christophe stopped their argument, surprised by the comment. Was this what gay was? Snarling in each other's faces? Faces. Their faces were so close that Gregory could see small bits of stubble on Christophe's face that the mercenary hadn't bothered to shave yet. His lips were chapped, but when weren't they? A simple nudge or slip from his current position would send Gregory lip-first into Christophe. Gregory quickly backed away, distracting himself. Think about the mission, the mission! Target: Eric Cartman; goal: kill him. Christophe glanced at Gregory concerned, then back at Craig.

"... _oui_, we are not gay_._ Why?" Christophe asked.

"I was going to invite you on a double date with me and Tweek for later… maybe go to Cartman's favorite restaurant while he's there…" Craig drew out Eric's name to tempt the two. "But you're obviously just a couple of shit-face-"

"We'll be there!" Gregory jumped at the opportunity. Even if their kiss hadn't fooled Eric, a double date would add to their image. Tweek seemed most scared of the plan though. He started shaking and twitching again.

"A date?! Yo-You never mentioned a date Craig! And one nearby Cartman?! Oh Jesus!" Tweek rapidly sipped his coffee. "I'm dead, I'm dead for sure!" Craig sighed and kissed Tweek's cheek after ruffling his hair.

"That's why these assholes are tagging along." Craig nodded in Gregory and Christophe's direction. "For protection. You couldn't defend yourself if your life depended on it."

"Wha- Gah! Craig you son of bitch!" Tweek was about to pounce on the Craig, but the raven haired boy smiled, flipped his boyfriend off, then used his middle finger to bring Tweek's face closer and kissed him. Tweek's eyes widened as Craig pulled away with a smirk and left with a wave. Tweek also left the table quickly, stuttering something about customers. Gregory looked at Christophe when the little scene was over, but got no reaction. So he approved of their date.

(A/N: Reviews loved as always. Hope you liked it. French translation time:

*- What the hell? Whore! Get off of me, before you kill with my shovel!

**- What the hell is this?!)


	5. Chapter 5

Neither Gregory nor Christophe liked to be kept waiting. They were both punctual people that liked to get things done as quickly as possible. So obviously they were more than a bit annoyed when Craig and Tweek hadn't showed up 10 minutes after they were scheduled to meet. Gregory paced while Christophe grumbled and constantly dug, filled, and redug a hole in the ground. Gregory checked his watch again. They weren't too early, were they? At last he spotted the other couples headed in their direction. Craig had his arm wrapped protectively around Tweek, flipping off anyone who looked in their direction.

"Finally," Gregory muttered as Tweek and Craig approached them. "What took you two rogues so long?" He got a middle finger in response. Of course he did. "Well you're here now, and that's what counts I suppose. So where are we going for the date?"

"Where Cartman goes everyday for lunch," Craig said simply. "KFC." Gregory actually squeaked in fear. KFC? A crowded, greasy, disgusting hole that dared call itself a restaurant and served food that was more fat than substance? Christophe snickered at his reaction.

"What ees ze matter, _mon cher_? Too dirty for a pussy like yourself?" he smirked.

"You're more of a fag than us real fags," Craig scoffed. Gregory puffed up his chest with pride, crossing his arms.

"I am not!" he protested. Christophe grabbed his hand and inspected it.

"Silk gloves, oui?" Gregory refused to answer. Christophe removed the glove. "Your 'ands are clean, your nails are cut with a French manicure, and zey smell like peppermint. You iron your own shirts every morning and your 'air 'as enough gel een eet to catch on fire eef I brought a brought a lit cigarette anywhere near eet."

"... you kissed me," Gregory said in retort. Christophe was to argue when Clyde sighed loudly, obviously annoyed by the two of them.

"Goddamn it can we just go?" he asked. The two were more than happy to oblige with the idea.

The group of four sat at their table, eating in silence. Gregory wriggled uncomfortably from time to time, not touching his fried chicken. Christophe gladly picked at his leftovers, not caring that his filthy hands were touching food that went right into his mouth. Craig ate quietly, occasionally looking around or taking a sip of his drink. Tweek had finished his insanely large amount of coffee and was just nervously looking around the whole place for Eric, shaking and tugging his hair and shirt. However, no matter how much any of them looked around the place, Eric Cartman was not there. It was strange. Anyone could tell you that even after all these years, Eric still loved the Colonel and his fried chicken more than anything else. His file had said he ate at the restaurant practically everyday. Just their luck they go on his off day. Gregory grumbled along with his stomach- he needed some real food. Christophe noticed and offered him a piece of chicken. Gregory scoffed and turned away. No way was he going to put that greasy piece of… fat that called itself chicken anywhere near his mouth. Christophe said something under his breath, then grabbed Gregory's face with one of his hands and spun it to face him. Gregory opened his mouth to protest, but found fried chicken being shoved down his throat instead. Gregory gagged on it, chewing to help it go down easier before swallowing. He sent a nasty glare at Christophe, who merely shrugged.

"You need to eat," was all he said. Gregory could've insulted him, or yelled at him for getting his face greasy and dirty. He was about to, especially considering Christophe's smug expression. But he didn't. Instead he pulled him close and kissed him, surprising the Frenchman. He pulled away, taking Christophe's smirk with him.

"*_Ce que l'enfer n'était que de Gregory?!_" Christophe sputtered.

"You know, we are in America, love. You really should be speaking English, or at least Spanish," Gregory said, still internally gloating over his small victory. Christophe slapped him, but not hard enough to do real damage.

"... yeah you two are definitely gay," Craig said. He stood up and grabbed Tweek's arm. "We're leaving." Gregory shooed them off, too preoccupied with Christophe to say a proper good bye or argue. Christophe glared daggers at Gregory, and the two were locked in an unofficial staring contest.

"I 'ate you," he growled.

"**_Je t'aime mon ami_," Gregory smirked.

"Don't you dare use my language with your piece of sheet accent," Christophe scowled. He stood and stuck a fresh cigarette through his teeth. Gregory tried to offer his lighter as a peace offering, but Christophe ignored him and used his own rather beat up one. He left the Brit, walking outside the KFC. Gregory sighed. He had pushed it too far. He followed his friend, trying to get him back. Christophe continued to give him the cold shoulder, no matter how beautifully Gregory could weave his words. Gregory stopped and took a deep breath. He about to start yelling when he heard a soft groan come from the alley he was next to.

"Mole, did you hear that? he called.

"Did I 'ear what, you being a pussy?" the Frenchman finally grumbled.

"No no, I'm being serious here." Gregory turned towards the alleyway. "Hello?" The groan came again, and Gregory looked over at Christophe. He seemed puzzled as well, over their little spat for the moment. They were back in business mode. Christophe gripped his shovel tightly, to use as an in-case weapon. Gregory walked a step ahead of him. There was obscure lump at the end, shoved into the corner. The groans seemed to be coming from it. Gregory flipped his lighter to illuminate the shady end of the alley and gasped at the sight. There, curled in the corner, with the words "RESPECT MY FUCKING AUTHORITY FAGS" sprayed painted on the wall above him, was Kenny McCormick.

(A/N: OH MY GOD I KILLED KENNY. You have no idea how much pain I was in for this chapter. Oh Jesus man. Eherm. Well that happened. Reviews _s'il vous plaît_? French:

*- What the hell was that for Gregory?!

**- I love you my friend)


	6. Chapter 6

(A/N: Warning- this chapter contains the depressing death of Kenny McCormick. If you cry easily, I'm sorry. This was really hard for me to write.)

The pair had two different but similar actions- Gregory turned Kenny to face him and uncurled him to inspect his wounds while Christophe put his shovel down and knelt beside Kenny. He was in terrible shape. His orange hoodie was stained a dark red that grew at an inauspicious rate. A tear in the cloth suggested that he had been stabbed in the side, somewhere around his kidneys.

"Good God…" Gregory murmured.

"God ees not good," Christophe quickly snapped. "Zat cocksucker would never let somet'ing like zis 'appen eef 'e were good." Gregory didn't comment on Christophe's hatred of God, nor get mad at him for interrupting him. He removed his gloves and placed a firm hand where he thought the blood was coming from.

"Kenneth…" Gregory looked back up at the writing on the wall. "Was it him?"

"Y-Yeah…" Kenny muttered weakly. He coughed, a bit of blood dribbling down his lip. "That fucker Cartman…" He coughed again. "He got me."

"Quick, Mole, call a hospital," Gregory said, but Kenny was already shaking his head.

"I've been bleeding out for a while now dude," he said hoarsely. "Hell's Pass can't do shit. I'm as good as dead." He turned to Christophe. "Can I have a smoke? Maybe numb the pain a bit?" Christophe nodded, and gave him the already lit cigarette in his mouth. Christophe almost never shared his cigarettes, but he knew the pain of dying, and he quite literally owed his life to Kenny. Kenny inhaled the cigarette and blew smoke out his nose, closing his eyes.

"Maybe… Maybe I'll die for good this time," he said quietly. "Maybe I'll get to be with Butters forever…"

"No, Kenneth, listen to me," Gregory said, panicking. He couldn't have anyone else die by their target, especially one of their employers. "Kenneth, I am trained in the medical field. I can fix you."

"Nah… I think I'm done for Doctor Gregory," Kenny half laughed. "My vision's fading. You know I'm a hopeless cause. Just… leave me alone. Let me go meet Butters. If he went to Hell that is." He coughed again, more violently this time, with blood flying out and spraying Gregory's shirt. Kenny opened his eyes, and they were full of mixed emotions, but the most prominent was hatred.

"You better fucking kill him," Kenny growled softly. "Cartman… he has to pay. I don't care if you have to fuck in front of him to get him to come after you so you can kill him." Kenny grabbed Gregory's shirt collar and pulled him close. "I want you to torture that bastard… torture him until he begs for death and don't grant it to him and let him suffer slowly. Then tell him that Kenny McCormick…" Kenny turned his head to the side, coughing violently. When he spoke again, his voice was barely louder than his breath. "Tell him… that Kenny McCormick… is going to make his afterlife worse... than any shit Hell, Satan, or Damien will throw at him…" Kenny closed his eyes, relaxing his face. "I'm coming Butters baby… I'm almost…" His breath stopped, and the hand gripping Gregory fell limp at his side. Christophe and Gregory looked at each, knowing what had happened. Gregory lay his head on Kenny's chest to confirm before stating the obvious.

"Dead," he said solemnly. Christophe nodded, then stood up and took out his shovel.

"Carry 'im," he ordered Gregory. He saw where Christophe was going with this, and picked up Kenny. He was a bit heavy because of his dead weight, but Gregory was strong enough to carry him bridal style for a good distance. Christophe walked out of the alleyway, holding his shovel with a look of determination. Gregory walked close behind him, holding Kenny. People walking on the sidewalks let them pass, seeming to understand the situation. The two passed by Craig and Tweek on their way, who saw what had happened. Even Tweek fell silent in shock. Craig took out his phone, holding it in one hand and dragging Tweek with the other.

"Kenny's dead," he said to whoever he had called. Gregory assumed it was Stan. The Death Parade of four living and five bodies walked through all of South Park, showing everyone what had happened. Some bastard had killed Kenny.

Finally they all arrived at the cemetery. Stan was already there, standing next to his car. He saw Kenny and tears immediately filled his eyes.

"Kenny, no…" he said softly. He followed the group as they found an empty spot in the cemetery, right next to the grave of Leopold "Butters" Stotch. Gregory lay Kenny's body on the ground and knelt next to it. Christophe stuck his shovel into the ground and stepped on its head, then lifted it and brought up a pile of dirt. He dug slowly, much slower than he could if he was on a mission or digging to get out his anger. Gregory took a rosary that he kept in his shirt pocket out and tucked it into Kenny's now-stiffening hands.

"Was… Was there anything you could've done?" Stan asked, standing at a distance.

"No," Gregory shook his head. "When we found him… he said he had been left there for a while, bleeding. It was near a major organ."

"Was it Cartman?" Craig asked, his usual monotone thick with unusual sadness. Gregory nodded, and the air seemed to tense. The name Eric Cartman used to strike fear in their hearts. Now it had become hatred. Stan walked over and knelt next to Gregory, taking Kenny's hand.

"I… I'm gonna miss you dude," he choked. "You were one of my best friends, and you helped me get through Kyle's death and…" Stan paused, unable to go on. He collected himself and continued. "And now I can never repay you. I just want you to know that Cartman is a dick. And we're going to kill him in your honor, Kyle's honor, Butter's honor, Wendy's honor, Red's honor… shit man, in a lot of people's honor. But what matters is that we're going to kill him. Maybe dying won't be so bad for you Kenny. You're gonna see Butters, and Karen! You've wanted to see Karen since your dad accidentally killed her a few years ago right? And I know you want to see Butters. I hope you're happy wherever you are dude and… if you see Kyle, tell him I love him." Stan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing tears out of his eyes as they flowed over the brink of his eyelid. Gregory reached over and lay a hand on Stan's shoulder, and the black haired boy jumped into his arms, gripping his shirt as he sobbed into his shoulder. Gregory had seen this before, when he and Christophe had killed people and their friends were left behind. They always hugged each other and whispered words of comfort, usually in foreign languages. Gregory did just that, embracing Stan gently and telling him that Kenny was in a better place and that he was going to kill Eric for what he had done. Christophe had finished digging a grave that was six feet deep and as tall as Kenny. He glanced at Craig, who nodded and took Kenny's feet. Christophe lifted the body by its shoulders, and together they lay Kenny six feet under. Christophe took out a fresh cigarette and placed it between Kenny's teeth.

"For ze pain," he said quietly. "*_Merci pour m'avoir ramené à la vie._" He took a fistful of freshly upturned dirt and dropped it into the grave. It was an American tradition that he normally wouldn't follow, but this was different. Craig also dropped in some dirt, along with Tweek. It was harder for Stan, but he did too. Gregory was the last to, and watched as half the dirt made it to the bottom while the other half got swept up in the breeze. Christophe began slowly refilling the hole with his shovel, and the rest of them stood over the grave, silently praying or just taking in the depressing air that came along with funerals, even makeshift ones. Once the last bit of dirt had been placed on top, Christophe grabbed two sticks off the ground and a bit of twine out of his pocket. He lashed the stick together in the shape of a cross, which was strange considering his attitude towards God. But they had nothing else to use as a grave marker, so he just stuck the crudely made cross on the fresh pile of Earth. Gregory placed a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"We'll avenge him," he promised. "I'm… sorry of your loss." He turned away, and held his hand out to Christophe. The brunette took it, and they left the graveyard with a new passion to complete their mission.

(A/N: Sad chapter is sad... T~T Just take the French and review...

*- Thank you for bringing me back to life)


	7. Chapter 7

(A/N: Hey guys! Now that I've thoroughly depressed you all, time to move this along. Also wanna say, thanks for all the love this is getting. Love y'all too! Also I might upload another Gregstophe thing that I am collabing on with a friend of mine... thoughts? Enjoy!)

Gregory lay awake in the cheap motel bed, somehow able to keep warm under the thin scratchy sheets. It was past midnight, maybe around 1:15 AM, but he couldn't sleep. His mind was too occupied to relax and fall asleep. It didn't help that the blinds had been broken and the moonlight was leaking into the room. Suddenly, Gregory felt his covers being lifted and the bed creaked as another body crawled into it.

"... Mole?" he whispered.

"I can't sleep," came the rough French accent. Gregory turned himself over so he was facing Christophe, their foreheads nearly touching in the small bed.

"Me neither," Gregory replied softly. "I can't stop thinking about Kenneth, and his friends, including the dead ones."

"I liked zat one," Christophe said. "Zat… Kenny, 'e had an air of wisdom about 'im. 'E wasn't selfish like ze rest of them. 'E brought me back to life Gregory. And now 'e ees dead."

"I know," Gregory said sadly. "It shouldn't have happened. We should've kept a close eye on all of them. We… we failed."

"Eet never gets easier, does eet?" Christophe asked. Gregory wrapped his arms around him comfortingly.

"No," he murmured. "No it doesn't." Christophe lay his head on Gregory's chest, closing his eyes. Gregory couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a tear go down his cheek. He told himself it was just the light and rubbed Christophe's back like he had done for Stan. It felt different though. Christophe's back was like a map of all they had gone through. There were scars that were still slightly raised from some old wound and a set of stitches around his lower back from a knife that had cut Christophe deeply. Gregory remembered sewing up that cut, how he had clucked his tongue in shame at Christophe's carelessness but had really been worried if his friend had been going to make it. Gregory's hand brushed over some scabs that were still healing and a burn from an explosion that still made Christophe tense whenever he touched it. Hesitantly, Gregory leaned down a placed a soft kiss in Christophe's dirty brunette locks.

"Do you want to sleep with me tonight?" he asked in a whisper. Christophe just wrapped his arms around Gregory and pulled him closer for an answer. Gregory hummed in agreement and nestled his face further into Christophe's hair, breathing in his scent. Smoke. Sweet, sweet nicotine smoke and something else that Gregory couldn't quite put his finger on. He closed his eyes, slowly falling asleep next to Christophe's warmth.

They needed a new plan. Pretending to be gay for each other wasn't working fast enough, obviously. They needed to become even bigger targets. According to almost everyone in town, the two gayest people in all of South Park were and Big Gay Al, or just Al sometimes. They were constantly encouraging young gays and organizing rallies, their most famous being the "GAYS AGAINST FAGS" rally. Gregory visited their house early the next morning, dragging a half-awake Christophe with him. The Frenchman didn't normally wake up at these hours. Gregory knocked on the door, and it was opened by a large man wearing a baby blue ascot and pink shirt splattered with other neon colors. Although his shirt was a bit too loud for Gregory's taste, his well kept hair made Gregory smile and hold out his hand.

"Good morning sir. Are you Big Gay Al?" he asked. The man smiled back at Gregory and shook his hand enthusiastically.

"I am! And you are?" Al asked.

"Gregory Thorne," Gregory replied. It was nice to meet another polite person in this hellhole town. Maybe he should hang around really gay people more often. "How are you this morning?"

"Me? I'm super, thanks for asking!" Al said. "Why don't you come inside?" Gregory smiled politely and nodded, then pulled Christophe along as Big Gay Al let them inside. The house was wonderfully decorated, very chic and precise. Gregory breathed in the scent- some type of sharp citrus that was most likely coming from a candle in the kitchen. It was a breath of fresh air compared to his motel room that smelt of formaldehyde, mold, and cigarettes. Well, he was used to the last one so it wasn't too bad. Al offered for them to sit on the couch, and Gregory sat on the lush upholstery next to Christophe.

"This is a lovely house," he commented.

"Thank you so much! Oh, you're such a little darling," Al smiled. "So, who's your friend here?"

"Oh, this is Christophe DeLorne, or Le Mole," Gregory said. Christophe made some type of noise at his name. "And he's my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend? Oh that's so super!" Al squealed. " ! Come down here, we have a new gay couple in town!"

"I'm coming, Jesus Christ," an oddly high pitched voice called. A man wearing rather tight leather pants and a police cap came down the stairs and sat next to Big Gay Al. Christophe was more awake now, and he was looking confused as to how he had gotten to a couch in a living room across from the gayest men in South Park, and maybe even in general. He was probably also wondering why they were looking at him like he was a newborn puppy. His dark brown eyes shifted to Gregory.

"*_Qui sont ces gens et ce que le baiser faisons-nous ici_?" he asked, still not awake enough to speak in English.

"They're and Big Gay Al, and we're here to ask for their help," Gregory answered.

"You two sweethearts need our help?" Al asked. "Of course! What do you need?"

"Well, we came back to town to visit some old friends of ours, Stan Marsh in particular," Gregory lied. The less people that knew about their mission, the better. "But we found out that some of them had died. Butters Stotch, Kyle Brovfloski, and Kenny McCormick? Do you know them?"

"Oh, I do know them, the poor darlings," Al said, his smile turning into a sad one. "Kenny died too? I hadn't heard that… but yes, I know about Butters and Kyle's tragedies. Stan and Kyle had been such a cute couple! Oh and I weeped about it for days!"

"We really did," nodded, also looking upset.

"The help that Christophe and I need is related to that actually," Gregory said. "I was thinking, since so many young gay men with such potential all died so brutally, we ought to hold a gay pride rally right here in South Park. To raise awareness of what happened. It will be like those candle gatherings people held for September's Children."

"That sounds like a super idea!" Al gasped. "Of course we'll help you two! We can get started right away."

"Perfect," Gregory smiled. "We'll leave it up to you. I just have one request for it."

"What is it?" Al asked.

"Make sure that everyone knows that Gregory Thorne and Christophe DeLorne are the ones who suggested the idea."

(A/N: Reviews? French time!

*- Who are these people and why the fuck are we here?)


	8. Chapter 8

(A/N: What, I'm updating super duper late? Whaaaaaaok I'm on vacation and I don't get a lot of access to computers. Chill. Also I just wanna mention I GOT MY FIRST CRITICISM. Fun fun! I'm actually serious here I love criticisms, they help a writer grow and understand how they can make things better. Which I love. So later I will do a chapter responding to it and various other reviews but for now, take this chapter.)

The Gregory and Christophe's Gay Pride Parade was fully underway in South Park. For a hardcore redneck Christian republican town, a lot of people were extremely supportive and helped out. Big Gay Al and did most of the organizing, but Gregory and Christophe were there and gave input from time to time. Stan, Craig, and Tweek also agreed to help after some convincing. They were initially against the idea, but joined in because they felt it was a good cause anyways. As everyone was getting in place for the parade, Tweek and Craig walked over to Gregory, arm in arm.

"Did you ever stop and think that this might all backfire?" Craig asked. "Did you ever wonder to yourself- hey, what if Cartman doesn't even come watch this parade, or what if he kills a different gay person. Because I swear, if Stan or Tweek dies, I'm blaming you."

"Of course I've thought this whole thing through," Gregory frowned. "What do you think you're paying me for?"  
"We're paying you?" Craig raised an eyebrow.

"... fine then, what do you think Stanley is paying me for?" Gregory asked. "And he is paying me. Trust me Craig, I've mapped out this parade route to cater directly to Eric Cartman's day. We're going to march past his house, the mall he frequents, and his favorite shops. Not just that, but there will be speech making at the very end at Stark's Pond, precisely when Eric should be there. And he won't be able to avoid it, judging from the amount of people here." Gregory looked around, watching as people crowded around the area marked out for the parade. A few were trying to cross over the line, but Gregory had told Big Gay Al to put Christophe in charge of security. Sure enough, if anyone tried to walk inside the parade lines, they fell into a pit trap and Christophe immediately rushed over and began yelling at them in French. Gregory chuckled at the sight, walking over.

"I'm terribly sorry sir, but we're not allowing pedestrians into the float area," Gregory said, looking over Christophe's shoulder at the man in the pit. Christophe turned around, scowling.

"I can 'andle ze security on my own," Christophe said. Gregory laughed and patted Christophe's shoulder.

"Of course you can love. After all, you do all the dirty work. The thinking is my part," Gregory smirked. Christophe looked extremely insulted, then roughly grabbed Gregory shirt collar and quickly pulled him in for a kiss. Gregory's eyes widened in surprise as Christophe pulled away.

"Let's see you t'ink straight now beetch," he grinned. Blood rushed to Gregory's face and heated his cheeks as he turned and walked away, trying to keep his demeanor. Damn that Frenchman! he thought. Gregory softly touched his lips, then looked back at Christophe. He wore a rather smug expression and mockingly blew a kiss to Gregory. The blonde retaliated by blowing his own kiss and flipping his fake boyfriend off.

The parade was more successful than any of them had imagined. Lots of people came and followed, and Gregory was even confronted by a young preteen boy who was apparently Kyle's younger brother, Ike. He seemed really appreciative that someone was finally doing something to honor his dead brother. If only he knew exactly how much Gregory was doing. He kept watching out for Eric, waving from atop floats and walking along the streets, smiling but distracted. He couldn't seem to see him anywhere, but he knew that Eric was somewhere nearby. Even if he hadn't seen the parade before, there was no way he could miss the very end at Stark's Pond. There was a mini stage that had been set up, and the parade stopped there. Big Gay Al got up on stage and tapped the microphone.

"Hello friends!" he said happily. Everyone quieted down and began to listen to him. "Hey, I'm so glad you all could come here today," he continued. "It's so super to just see everyone supporting the young gay couples of our town, as well as honor some of our fellow gays who have died. If you don't know, Butters Stotch, Kyle Brovsfloski, and Kenny McCormick were all killed recently. Let's take a moment to remember them." A solemn silence fell over the group as a majority of them bowed their heads. Gregory had been about to grab the rosary he kept on him, but then he remembered he had buried it with Kenny. He looked over at Christophe, who was glaring at the sky and giving God the middle finger. To each their own, he supposed. Gregory closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer to whoever might be listening.

_It wasn't right. The world isn't fair, I know that. I make it not fair sometimes. But from what I heard, Butters never deserved to be murdered. Everyone knew and loved him. And Ike said Kyle had been accepted to Harvard. That's impressive coming from this town. Then there's Kenneth. I'm not so sure about that one, but he seemed like a good person. Three of the best of South Park, all dead by the same person. I'll properly avenge all of them. I swear it._

"Thank you," Al said, breaking everyone out of their prayers and mourning. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't the one who thought to hold this rally in those boys' honors. No, actually it was a different boy's idea, the little darling. He just came to visit and was so shocked by all this that he asked my help in organizing this whole thing." Big Gay Al looked to the side of the stage at Gregory. "Gregory, would you like to come up here?" Gregory put on his most picture perfect smile and nodded, climbing the steps to top of the stage. He took the microphone from Al as he went offstage and people applauded. Gregory smiled and waved, searching the crowd for Eric. Where was he?

"Good evening everyone," he said once the clapping had died down. "My name is Gregory Thorne. I'm not sure if anyone remembers me, but I was here in South Park for fourth grade about nine years ago. One of my old friends called me back here, along with my boyfriend Christophe. Mole, would you come up here please?" Gregory looked at Christophe, who was shaking his head and looking extremely pissed off, but the crowd and security pushed him on stage. Christophe walked over to him, staring at his boots. He had always been uncomfortable with being stared at, and Gregory would probably have hell to pay later for dragging him on stage, but it was part of the show. Everything was.

"Mole do you want to say anything to everyone about how you feel?" Gregory asked, holding the microphone near him.

"_Non_," Christophe replied. There were a few laughs, and Gregory chuckled along with them.

"That's ok love, I can tell them," Gregory smiled. "We came to South Park for nothing more than memories and to catch up with some old friends, only to find out that some had died. It was extremely tragic for us, and it was even worse when another one died while we were here. You might have known him, Kenneth McCormick? We buried him in the graveyard, and… I'd have to say it's the most depressing thing I've ever done in my life." Gregory took a moment and held the microphone away from himself. It was both for effect and his true feelings. A ripple of sadness went through the audience again. "I'm sorry," Gregory said when he continued. "But it's still difficult. That's why we went to Big Gay Al and , who gladly agreed to help us. Thank you all for coming." Gregory waved to everyone as he left the stage with Christophe in tow. Big Gay Al took the stage back and proceeded to make a thank you speech. Once they sat back down, Christophe took a folded piece of dirty paper out of his pocket, handing it to Gregory. The Brit took it curiously, and unfolded it. It was sheet music, with lyrics scrawled in small spaces between the bars. Gregory gave it a once over, muttering the words to himself. After he had read it, he looked at Christophe, who simply pointed to a guitar near the side of the stage. He had written a song and wanted Gregory to memorize the melody and lyrics in the span of time until the end of Big Gay Al's speech. Of course he would do something like that. Christophe gave the paper a meaningful glance before getting out his cigarettes and lighting one. Gregory was going to throttle him later, but for the moment, he had a song to memorize.

(A/N: Reviews? Oui, non? Idk. Anyways, be prepared for MAJOR OOCness in the next chapter... I got lazy. See y'all probably next Wednesday.)


	9. Chapter 9

(A/N: I warned about OOCness, yes? Well... here it is. Please don't kill me, it was simply filler. Also Christophe's song is made up by me. I didn't feel like finding actual song lyrics so I just wrote shit down. Enjoy... I suppose...)

* * *

Luckily Christophe wasn't an amazing songwriter. He knew how to read music, per request of Gregory, and he had learned how to play the guitar to get him and Gregory into an exclusive club to kill a target once. But that didn't make him Mozart by a long shot. The melody was simple, just a few chords repeating, and changing slightly at one line that Gregory assumed was the chorus because it was repeated. Still, as Al finished his speech, Gregory wasn't quite sure he could sing along to this song Christophe had written and presented to him a mere five minutes ago.

"And now, an original song by the two super darlings whose ideas brought us all here," Al said. Everyone applauded and Christophe spit out his cigarette and stamped it out with his foot. He grabbed the guitar and looked at Gregory as a way of asking if he was ready. Gregory shot him an annoyed glare but nodded. The two went on stage and Gregory took the mic as Christophe tuned his guitar.

"Hello again," he smiled. "Just as a foreword, I was only just informed of this song so I don't quite have the words down." Christophe laughed slightly, and Gregory was tempted to slap him, but from what he knew, boyfriends didn't normally do that to each other. Gregory cleared his throat and put the sheet music on a stand that someone brought for him. Christophe began to strum a few chords, then picked up a steady strumming pattern.

_The world changes all around us_

_and we adapt to survive_

_But something here has clouded us_

_and we forgot how to stay alive_

_Our lives were changed and fucked up_

_to a point of no return_

_We tell our stories again and again_

_but the lesson won't be learned_

_The ones in command will keep us at bay_

_For how long, we'll never know, so I cannot say_

_But know that I can promise you that before your dying day_

_I'll take you hand in my hand and lead you far away_

Gregory hummed the tune for a little, as a transition into the chorus. It was actually a pretty melody, though the lyrics were oddly cliche for Christophe to write. He had probably written them after Kenny's death when neither of them could sleep.

_You find one small thing in this world_

_that you can call your own_

_But Death steals it away from you_

_and to the wind it's blown_

_Those precious things become memories,_

_a shitty substitute_

_But God and karma are both bitches_

_who have caught up to you_

_The ones in command will keep us at bay_

_For how long, we'll never know, so I cannot say_

_But know that I can promise you that before your dying day_

_I'll take you hand in my hand and lead you far away_

Christophe strummed a repeating bridge for a while, and Gregory looked back at him. He didn't seem half bad for a moment. He seemed more like one of the artists with a lost soul that they tried to express through combat boots and fake bandages, though Christophe's were real. He caught himself smiling warmly before he began to panic. Oh God, was he become one of those stupid saps you see in all the movies, falling for the dashing brunette who can strum a few chords on a guitar? This town was doing strange things to his mind that Gregory wasn't quite sure he liked.

_In the end it's all inevitable_

_and you can never hide_

_But as soon you embrace that_

_and give up on your pride_

_That's the moment when they come_

_to make you go astray_

_So come with me and say fuck it all_

_as we face a brand new day_

Christophe slowed his strumming until he stopped and just knocked out the melody on the guitar.

_The ones in command will keep us at bay_

_For how long, we'll never know, so I cannot say_

_But know that I can promise you that before your dying day_

_I'll take you hand in my hand and lead you far away_

Gregory decided that for the sake of the crowd, and the fact that the feeling wouldn't stop nagging him, he was going to take Christophe's hand. He grabbed his partner's wrist and pulled him out his seat, then held the microphone between them. Christophe's eyes widened in shock and he looked either terrified or pissed off, but Gregory just smiled and sang the chorus one last time, inviting him to sing along.

_The ones in command will keep us at bay_

_For how long, we'll never know, so I cannot say_

_But know that I can promise you that before your dying day_

_I'll take you hand in my hand and lead you far away_

Christophe's gravely French accent stumbled over his own lyrics, but Gregory made sure they were singing the same words at the same time. Once the song was done, the whole crowd erupted in applause and Gregory turned off the microphone before looking at Christophe.

"Is this the part where we're supposed to kiss?" he asked jokingly. Christophe leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips anyways. Nicotine and the spicy scent of aftershave. A different taste, maybe better.

"_Oui_," he smiled. Gregory discarded the microphone and did what he had been hesitant to do before at Stark's Pond- take another kiss for his own. He took Christophe by surprise, but the brunette reacted by accepting him and pulling him closer. By the time the clapping had died down, they broke apart, both wearing strange stupid grins on their face.

"With ze way you are acteeng, I am t'inking maybe zat Craig fellow was onto somezing, _non_?" Christophe asked a mocking tone.

"With the way I'm acting? You took the initiative," Gregory teased back. They both grinned again before realizing how entirely unprofessional they were both being and pulled apart from each other, looking off the the sides on the stage to hide their blushes from each other. As Gregory turned though, he saw a mass of red sitting on a bench beyond the crowd, glaring daggers at him. Eric Cartman had been there the whole time.

* * *

(A/N: Was the song bearable? Yes, no? Sorry. Anyways YES CARTMAN WAS THERE WATCHING THEM. Get ready for legitimate plot to happen next chapter, no more of this random exposition fluff. Reviews please!)


	10. Author's Note- Responding to Reviews

Happy Labor Day!

Hey guys so I have something to say- the story is done. I finished it. However, you guys don't get to see the completed version yet. You gotta wait until I'm done updating! Sorry… but I've already got a system going. If you want more updates I can go twice a week (just tell me in the reviews and I'll make it happen). Anyways I feel like now that I have 25 followers and two pages of reviews I should acknowledge and respond to some people.

(guest)- Thank you for being the first to review! I don't know if you're still following the story but I'm glad you were so interested.

RozenBlitz- Thanks for being the second to review and sticking to at least the second chapter! I hope you still follow the story too. I'm happy you feel like I captured all the characters and dialogue well and hopefully I'm still doing that.

xLawlietx- I hope Just Business lived up to your expectation as being the first Gregstophe fanfiction you read, and I'm glad you liked the idea and characters. Thanks for being the first follow! Viva La Gregstophe!

Kiara Orihara- Haha, I feel you. It's awesome that you appreciated my little love scenes. And don't worry, I may have killed Kenny but I swear he's in a better place with Butters.

Lil sis(guest)- Hi. I know you because you're my little sis in real life. Sorry I force you to wait for updates and not read things to you… but I don't want you spoiling things in the comments! Hell you already vaguely know the ending… shh…

fangirlshippingness- Lol, I'm "bike-curious" too. Loved that comment dude. And yes, he did dare kill Butters… what can I say though? He's a bit of dick.

Guest(guest)- I don't know if this is all the same guest but… I just had to mentioned I loved your comment on chapter 8. So I guess I'll be here… updating… every Wednesday… so that you can have your story.

xCK(guest)- YUS. FINALLY GET TO RESPOND TO THIS. Ok this'll be the longest because this guy here is my helpful critic. Highfive. Tell me what you think if you still stuck around. First off, I'm happy you like the story and you're sticking around to see it play out. I appreciate that. Now- pacing. I myself didn't feel that it was too fast paced, but I'm glad you told me that as a viewer. Helpful for the future. Characterization- I try my very best to stick to the characters, but from time to time I do have to change them a little bit to fit the story. Chapter 9 was the only really major OOC chapter as I warned, but if there are other moments I never meant for them to be. The reason I had the comfort scene at the beginning of chapter 7 was so that you could have a sense at how close Gregory and Christophe were. Maybe they shout and curse at each other, but in the end, they've known each other for more than nine years, they should be extremely close. Also with Craig and Tweek- I've gone to multiple people about this, even one who has never seen South Park at all, and they all said it didn't seem very thrown in. Maybe moments are, but they give helpful insight to the other gay couples in town that make the stakes of the mission even higher. I know I ought to flesh out the story more, but it's all prewritten. You're gonna get what I wrote, which I hope lives up to your expectations in the future(and I will say, I'm super excited for all the upcoming chapters because that's where shit happens). I'm thankful for your insight, and I'd like to know your opinion on my responses. Please stick around and tell me what you think more!

That's all for individual responses! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited. Stick around because there is more to come and goddamn I promise you, I am 97% sure it is worth the time it takes to read one little chapter each week.


	11. Chapter 10

Their plan had been a success. There almost no possible way they wouldn't become Eric's next targets. Gregory took Christophe's hand after Big Gay Al had thanked everyone again and sent them off.

"Did you see him?" he whispered to Christophe. All Christophe had to do was nod and light a new cigarette. He knew exactly who Gregory was talking about. They made their way through the crowd, often times getting stopped by people who congratulated them or told them how cute of a couple they made. Gregory would stop and smile brightly, saying a polite thank you before getting dragged along by an impatient Christophe. Once they were out of the crowd, Christophe exhaled a sigh of relief as well as smoke.

"*_Pas plus de gens. Je baise déteste les gens et l'ensemble de cette situation_," he muttered. "_Nous avons obtenu l'abruti pour regarder le défilé stupide, peut donc nous quitter maintenant?_"

"You know, I think you should be extremely grateful that no one in this town speaks French other than me," Gregory frowned. "But if you've reached your social limit for the day, I suppose we can just go back to the room and-"

"Hello Gregory." Gregory and Christophe both turned around and saw Eric standing there, a smile across his face but the opposite shining in his eyes. At his side was a Doberman Pinschet on a chain leash. He brought along the same type of dog that killed Christophe years ago- a guard dog. Of course he had.

"Eric." Gregory offered him a polite nod. Christophe's hand was shaking in his, and Gregory stepped a little ways in front of him and positioned his arm protectively. "That's a… nice dog you have there. A Doberman, right?"

"Hm? Ah, yes this is my new dog, . Why don't you say hi, ?" Eric loosened his grip on the dog's leash and it leaped forward. Christophe drew his shovel and held it in front of him in panic, and Gregory shielded him from what he expected would be a dog attack. Right before the jaws of the dog could reach Gregory, Eric pulled the leash back.

"Heel," he said. The dog went right back to his side, but it was growling at Christophe. "Oh I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I forgot to mention- hates stupid fucking homos like yourself and that other British piece of shit." Gregory looked back at Christophe to see if he would defend his French heritage, but he really was terrified of Eric's dog. He grinded the cigarette in his mouth between his teeth, muttered curses in French, and his knuckles gripping the shovel's handle were perfectly white under his fingerless leather gloves. Great, just as Christophe had stopped having nightmares about being killed by guard dogs, he was confronted with one again. Gregory would have to go through more sleepless nights, calming Christophe until he finally closed his eyes..

"He's actually French," Gregory said, correcting Eric.

"Eh, same thing," he shrugged. "They're all just a bunch of European pussies. Anyways, I just wanted to say you two fags better watch your backs after this stupid parade thing." He let go of the leash and leaped for Gregory's throat. Before Gregory could even flinch, Christophe's arms blocked him from the dog's bite. The dog tore at Christophe's skin before letting go at the command of its master to "Heel" as he walked away. Christophe fell on Gregory's back, switching between French and English cursing as blood steadily leaked from the wound in his arm. Gregory put an arm around him, then picked him up bridal style. The brunette was slightly bigger than him so he was difficult to carry, but all Gregory needed to do was bring him to the nearby bench. He slowly set him down, careful to make sure Christophe wasn't lying on his injured arm.

"You 'ave gotten used to zis, 'aven't you? You can even be a doctor een ze meedle of a park," Christophe said, grinning slightly through the pain.

"It would seem that I have. Does it hurt?" Gregory asked, picking the arm up and inspecting the wound. Not too deep, but enough to bleed, and probably infected from either the dog's mouth or Christophe's own filth.

"_Oui_, eet 'urts like a beetch," Christophe grunted. "What deed you expect?"

"Nothing else," Gregory said. He began to unbutton his shirt until he could reach for a small emergency medical kit he always kept on him. It was tucked inside a secret pocket in his shirt, and inside was a tiny tube of antibiotic cream, some Q-tips, a drop of rubbing alcohol, and small tweezers. Christophe kept Gregory's medical bandages in his pants pockets, since they were a lot bigger than Gregory's. Gregory unbuttoned one and took out a fresh roll. He tore off a little bit to clean away any initial dog saliva or dirt, then took out the cream. Christophe groaned.

"Not ze cream…" he said, shaking his head. "Anyzing but ze cream Gregory..."

"Yes, the cream Mole, you need it," Gregory said. "And the alcohol too. Don't be such a baby." Gregory dabbed the cream onto a Q-tip and began smearing it into the wound. Christophe gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking from his attempts to stay still. This always amused Gregory. Christophe would barely flinch at a bullet grazing him or his face getting scratched up with barbed wire, but when Gregory brought out his medical supplies, Christophe would whine about how it stung and how he didn't want to clean the wound. His complaining had been part of what prompted Gregory to earn a medical degree. After Gregory had spread the cream across the open cuts, he poured the alcohol into them. Christophe violent slammed his fist on the bench, cracking it.

"Fuck you Gregory!" he growled through gritted teeth.

"If it'll make you feel better, maybe later," Gregory said casually. It was actually a common response of his. "But right now I need to wrap your injury up, so please wait and stop moving." Gregory made sure that the bandages were clean, then wrapped it around the dog bite, watching the white cloth grow red as it touched the open skin. Once the cut had been wrapped to Gregory's satisfaction, he tore the cloth and tucked the end into the layers of bandage and stood up.

"There," he said. Christophe sat up and and looked at the bandages in disgust.

"I fuckeeng 'ate guard dogs."

Despite Eric's basically direct threat, things were quiet for a while. They met with Stan and the other two after the parade, and Gregory told them what had happened with Eric. Stan seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that Eric's next target was either Gregory or Christophe for sure, and congratulated them on their success. Gregory started to discuss payment options with Stan, and part way through Christophe left with no explanation. Gregory was used to it though. He was negotiator, and Christophe did the dirty work. While Gregory sort of knew how to deal with mercenary work, Christophe had no idea what business meant, other than something that happened and got them paid. Once Gregory had established a suitable price for Eric Cartman's life with Stan, he went to go look for Christophe. After searching for a while, he found him sitting in front of Kenny McCormick's gave. He wasn't praying, or laying down flowers, or even crying. He was just sitting there, staring at the dirt. Gregory walked over and sat down with him, sharing in the silence. Christophe stood up after a while, then came back with a piece thick bark. He took out his switchblade and carved a name into the bark- Kenny McCormick. No more, no less. Christophe took out the cross and replaced it with the bark, then broke the cross in half before sitting down next to Gregory.

"Got sick of staring at something that reminded you of God, hm?" Gregory asked, breaking the silence. Christophe shook his head and stood up, taking a cigarette from his pack. Gregory also stood and flicked open his lighter, offering the flame to Christophe. He took it, and took a drag of the lit cigarette.

"Being 'ere motivates me more zan ze money," he said simply, and walked away from the grave. Gregory looked at Kenny's pitiful grave and nodded even though Christophe probably wasn't looking. They needed the money. They would do almost anything for money, and their clients would usually pay handsomely for their services. But they were never motivated for the job. It was just something that they did. Gregory spotted a patch of dandelions sprouting up from the ground nearby, and he picked one up. They were just weeds that lost their only good feature with a gust of wind. But there weren't any other flower-type plants nearby, so he left a few of them on Kenny's grave, and then one on Butter's grave since it was right next to Kenny's. Maybe later he would find out where Kyle and Wendy's graves were and leave something there. He sighed. Christophe was right. Money wasn't what made him really want to complete this job, though it was a nice perk. It was the bodies that lay six feet under that made him turn around and follow Christophe back to the streets of South Park.

(A/N: I really got nothing in particular to say. Have a great day. Take my French.

*- No more people. I fucking hate people and this whole situation.

**- We got the idiot to watch the stupid parade, so can we leave now?)


	12. Chapter 11

(A/N: How was that legit plot? Want more? Take it! However I just wanna say... this chapter may seem confusing at first so read it ALL THE WAY THROUGH BEFORE ANY RASH ACTIONS. Thank you.)

"Zis ees not going fast enough," Christophe said. They were back in the motel room. Gregory looked over at him questioningly. He thought it was going fine. So what if it had been a few days since the parade? Most killers didn't struck right away, and despite his looks, Eric was fairly smart when it came to getting what he wanted. Christophe knew this perfectly well. Did seeing Kenny's grave really motivate him that much? Gregory was about to protest the idea, but Christophe held up his hand to silence him.

"Now. We are going to keell zat fat piece of sheet now." Christophe rose from his seated position and grabbed his shovel. Once Christophe made up his mind, there was really no changing it. A few minutes later, Gregory found himself holding a sniper rifle under the cover of night and a tree near Eric's backyard. This is a bit strange, he thought to himself. Normally he would go with Christophe on missions, even if the negotiation was more his forte than the dirty work. But instead he was sitting in a tree, watching Christophe sneak into the backyard through the scope of the rifle. was sleeping in the front yard, wearing what looked like an electric fence collar. Eric was smart- the beast had full range to attack anyone who tried to come into the house from the back or front, but couldn't leave the yard. Poor Christophe had a tricky job. Gregory sat quietly in the oddly still and quiet night, aware of nothing other than Christophe's movements in the distance. He saw a tuft of brown hair emerge out of the ground, along with a pile of dirt. Christophe had made it inside the premises. All that he had to watch out for was-

suddenly stood up at alert, his pointed nose was stuck out in the air. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Christophe slowly pulled himself out of the hole he was in with a cigarette stuck in between his teeth. The smoke drifted from the end of the lit cancer stick to the nose of the fierce guard dog. Gregory wanted to scream at the Frenchman. When had Christophe grown so careless? Gregory had always known that the smokes would someday be the end of his partner, but not like this. He wanted to go out and tell Christophe was an idiot he was. Tell him that there was his worst and only fear less than 10 feet away from him. He wanted to make the noise of a dying giraffe, their distress signal, to warn him. But for some reason he was completely frozen, unable to do anything but watch as the cigarette fell from Christophe's lips and fully tipped off the dog. It growled and turned on its heel, barreling towards Christophe. It happened so fast, but time slowed down and Gregory was able to catch the total fear register on Christophe's face before Eric's guard dog sunk its teeth into Christophe's arm that he had held up for defense. It tore through the freshly wrapped bandages, reopening the wound it caused before and getting another taste of Christophe's blood.

"Sheet!" Christophe swore loudly, shaking the dog off of him before it attacked again, tearing into his shoulder this time. A string of profanity left Christophe's mouth as he held the shoulder to stop the bleeding. He was weak. He couldn't find off his foe. Death by the guard dog. Not again. Gregory couldn't lose Christophe again. There was no Kenny this time to bring him back to life with a deal with devil. But Gregory couldn't help his friend. Just watch helplessly as the dog tore at Christophe's calph, his side, his chest, his face, and finally, his throat. Christophe DeLorne lay in a bloody heap of unrecognizable flesh on Eric Cartman's lawn. Once the dog figured he had tasted enough human flesh for the day, it pawed at the back door of the house and was promptly let in. Gregory's mind couldn't register it, but he found himself running, sprinting faster than he ever had before. No no no no no no no… the simple word repeated over and over in Gregory's head, keeping in time to his feet hitting the ground. Were they hitting the ground? Was he flying to Christophe? What were his surroundings? Everything was too jumbled together. The "no" became replaced with "Christophe". Just one thing mattered to him. Then Gregory was there, sooner than he had hoped. He was there, standing over Christophe. No, now he was on his knees, Christophe's limp body in his arms. For some reason, his senses wouldn't work. Was this was they called the initial shock of watching someone you loved die? Gregory wished that he hadn't been in shock. He wanted to feel Christophe's blood run down his hands and his tears run down his own cheeks. He had to be crying. There was a giant aching pain in his chest. Something told him that he couldn't accept that Christophe was dead. He couldn't be. There was just too much left to say. Maybe it was a bit too late, but Gregory knew that if he saw Christophe someday in the afterlife, he would kiss him and tell him exactly how he felt. He would tell him that the only person that he loved, and would ever love would be Christophe. Oh, this stupid act! Fuck it! He didn't want to be the fake boyfriend of Christophe. He wanted to be the real one. He wanted to taste the strange taste that was Christophe's lips, inhale his nicotine scented shirts, caress his scar covered back, nag him about bathing, and stitch up his wounds. But it was too late.

"... _mon ami_…" Gregory thought he could hear Christophe speaking, but it was impossible. He had watched his vocal chords get ripped out of his throat.

"... _up_… _Gregory wake_…" What? What was he trying to say?

"BEETCH WAKE ZE FUCK UP!"

Gregory's eyes shot open. He was in his ridiculously uncomfortable motel bed with Christophe on top of him. The brunette's teeth were gritted in annoyance but his dark eyes swum with concern.

"You were crying in your sleep _mon ami_," Christophe said, his voice slightly hoarse, probably from shouting at Gregory. "You kept saying 'no', zen you said my name… *_Êtes-te bien_?" Without another second of hesitation, Gregory leapt up from his sleeping position and threw his arms around Christophe. He was surprised for a second, but held Gregory close.

"It was terrible Mole…" Gregory whispered, feeling sobs choking his breath and threatening to spill from his eyes. "I dreamt… you… and Eric's dog, it… you were bleeding and…" There they were. Those tears that he couldn't feel in his dream began to pour down his cheeks and fall on Christophe's shoulder where he had buried his face. Christophe held him and didn't complain that Gregory was being a complete pansy and needed to suck it up.

"**_Il sera bien ... tout sera parfait ... Je ne suis pas mort, je suis ici. Veuillez ne pas moi inquiéter_," he murmured, his hand softly stroking Gregory's hair.

"I can't lose you again, damn it…" Gregory managed to say. "I just can't… I don't know what I would do with myself, honestly I might just-"

"'ey. Leesten to me." Christophe grabbed Gregory's shoulders roughly and pulled him in front of him, bowing his head so their foreheads touched and Gregory could smell the nicotine on Christophe's breath mix with his own salty tears. "I will not leave you Gregory. Eef you do not want me to go, I will stay right 'ere until you get seeck of me." Gregory shook his head. I would never get sick of you, he wanted to say. I love you. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Why was he much braver in dreams than where bravely actually mattered? There was something about reality that just choked all the courage out of you. But for the moment, Gregory was perfectly content to just cling to Christophe and cry, knowing that he was alive, this wasn't a dream, and everything was completely real. Except for their relationship.

(A/N: So now you see why the beginning might be confusing. If you still didn't get it, the first part was inside Gregory's dream from his perspective. I'd like some feedback on what you thought about that actually, did it seem like a dream once you knew what it was and went back and read it through? See y'all either next Monday or Wednesday! French!

*- Are you ok?

**- It will be fine... everything is perfect... I am not dead, I am here. Please do not worry about me.)


	13. Chapter 12

(A/N: Updates on Mondays! What? Yes this is a thing now. Y'all deserve it. Mondays and Wednesdays are now update days! Enjoy it. The huge climax is next chapter... because the beginning is at the end of this chapter. Be prepared.)

Gregory had to change Christophe's opinion of him somehow. What did Christophe really think of him anyways? He was so hard to understand. One minute he was calling Gregory a bitch, then the next he was holding him in his arms, and then he was ignoring him completely and just digging a hole for absolutely no apparent reason. Of course Gregory had to fall in love with one of the most confusing and stubborn men he had ever met. But if anyone could figure out Christophe, it had to be him. This was when Yardale and that four-oh grade point average and the psychology course he had taken for fun actually mattered. He was going to find out what made Christophe DeLorne tick, and how he could make that ticking work in his favor. All he had to do was a little bit of studying. Gregory woke up the next morning, finding himself tangled in Christophe's arms. They must've both fallen asleep as Christophe had been comforting him. He looked at Christophe's sleeping face closely, carefully. There was a fading scar on his cheek and flecks of dirt here and there. He thought about nagging Christophe about cleaning himself when he woke up, but decided against it. He wasn't sure, but he might have to spoil Christophe if he wanted to see what Christophe thought of him. Aside from just physical features, there was something innocently vulnerable about him, about everyone when they slept. Christophe's mouth might have been set in a slight frown, like his dream was something unpleasant, but it just seemed like something completely natural. What made it strange though was how heavily Christophe's eyelids rested over his eyes, when Gregory was used to seeing him constantly at alert. Gregory wanted to reach out and see if it was real, see if the infamous mercenary Mole was really asleep and not just tricking him, but he wouldn't really mind if he was. So instead he just lay beside Christophe, watching as he slowly, sleepily opened his eyes, registering who Gregory was and trying to think back to why exactly they were lying so close to each other.

"... *_bonjour_..?" he murmured, his eyes losing their blurriness and narrowing in suspicion.

"Bonjour," Gregory replied, smiling.

"... **_pourquoi êtes-vous me regarder dormir_?" Christophe asked in a gravelly tone. Gregory blushed slightly, realizing that he had been watching Christophe sleep and although he did it because he found Christophe fascinating, most people wouldn't understand that and find it plain creepy. Christophe being among those people.

"I… I just woke up," Gregory lied, quickly sitting up and releasing Christophe, turning the other way to hide his blush. Christophe also sat up, looking over at Gregory confused.

"Ah… _non_ you did not but…" He shrugged and got out of the bed, immediately going for his pants from yesterday and taking his pack out of the pocket. Gregory wanted to shout out him to put them away, to stop smoking because he would be killed by a guard dog again if he did, but he reminded himself that it had just been a dream. Cigarettes were, what he assumed, made Christophe bearable to be around. He always had at least two, if not three or more, right when he woke up. It was a bit of a morning ritual. Gregory mentally took note of that.

_Needs cigarettes in the morning. Similar to coffee for Christophe?_

This studying was going well enough. Gregory was sure he could figure out Christophe. He watched Christophe out of the corner of his eyes as he dressed, gathering more information.

_Can't wake up and speak English right away_

_Usually rewears clothes_

_Doesn't brush his hair or floss_

_Sometimes shaves_

_Always wears the same dirty boots_

Christophe didn't seem to notice Gregory watching him go through his morning routine, and sat down at the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots. He finished tucking the laces into the boots at the top and bowed his head. This was slightly different. Gregory had only seen Christophe do this a few times, usually after dangerous missions when they had barely scraped through with their lives. Christophe sat hunched over, his head held down with his hands, and his eyes closed as he continuously muttered something in French. Gregory could have sworn it was a prayer of some kind, but Christophe would never stoop that low. Or, well, it was low in his opinion. Gregory couldn't understand the French either, even though he was mostly fluent in the language. Christophe spoke too fast and too silently to make out where the words stopped and started. Once he was done, he stood and Gregory caught a fading emotion in his eyes- relief.

The pond's surface was covered in a thin sheet of ice that broke into a web of cracks when the freezing water underneath splashed from below. Even in the spring time, Stark's Pond stayed frozen. Gregory kicked a chunk of snow across its surface, watching it slide as it broke the ice and melted. It was quiet, and he had suggested to Christophe that they take a walk. He had tried to hold Christophe's hand along the way, but he had been confused and simply said "You are not going to get lost _mon ami_" when Gregory had told him that he wanted to stick together. What a heartless fake boyfriend. In a way, Gregory half hoped that Eric would appear out of nowhere so that he might be able to steal another kiss from Christophe, or at least hold his hand. His research wasn't even going very well. Christophe hadn't done anything extraordinary, or even notable. They had just… walked. And now Christophe was smoking while Gregory looked back and forth between him and the pond. It didn't help that there wasn't much to do in South Park.

"Can we go Mole? It's cold," Gregory said, trying to start a conversation.

"Ze cold does not bother me," Christophe said. It was true. He was insane enough to be wearing a short sleeved T-shirt in the 30 degree weather and sit comfortably while Gregory felt goosebumps line his arms under his favorite orange Oxford shirt. A cold breeze cut through the fabric and made Gregory cross his arms in attempt to restrain all his body heat inside himself.

"Now?" Gregory asked, walking over to Christophe. Christophe looked up at him with a slightly annoyed look, the cigarette in his mouth still producing visible wisps of smoke.

"Sit," he commanded Gregory. The Brit frowned, bristled by the direct tone, but Christophe reached out and grabbed his wrist. "I said- sit." He pulled Gregory beside him and he stumbled onto the bench. Christophe put his arm around Gregory and pulled him close. There was an immediate flood of warmth that grew from where Christophe's fingertips lay on Gregory's arm and across his back. Gregory huddled himself closer into Christophe, closing his eyes and savoring the strange heat.

"How are you so warm?" he asked curiously. Christophe took the cigarette out of his mouth and wiggled it a little before taking a drag from it. Gregory had to laugh. "That's not how smokes work Mole. They don't raise your body temperature."

"_Non_, I believe zat ees exactly 'ow zey work," Christophe said. "And because you are a little beetch 'oo refuses to smoke, you are cold."

"No, I believe the way that cigarettes work is they slowly kill you," Gregory said. Normally he didn't touch on the subject, since he knew Christophe didn't want to hear how the only thing that could quickly calm him could also take away his life, but last night's dream was still weighing on his mind. Maybe Christophe would never be careless enough to smoke in the middle of a mission, but someway or another those cigarettes were going to be the death of Christophe. And Gregory was not going to be the one the bury him.

"... we are not talking about zis," Christophe said after a while, closing the subject. Gregory reopened it, flipping right back to where he had left off.

"Yes we are, because you have been smoking since you were eight years old, and while it is a miracle you don't have asthma or even lung cancer, who know how long the miracle will last?" Gregory looked up at his friend, who looked back down at him with an intense glare. Christophe scoffed and stood up, letting go of Gregory and taking his wonderful body heat with him. A cold breeze chose to blow at that very moment, biting the hardest where Christophe's hands had previously been. Gregory stood up and covered his arms as he chased Christophe.

"Mole. Mole get back here." Christophe picked up his pace to a brisk walk. "Mole, I just want to talk. It's in your best interest."

"I do not want to talk about zis. You know zat Gregory."

"But I do! Christ, maybe it's selfish but I don't want to bury you! Not after the scare from last time!" Christophe stopped dead in his tracks. Gregory almost cracked a smile- finally something got through to him. But before he could speak again, Christophe turned sharply on his heel and glared at Gregory. His dark brown eyes were full of rage as he grabbed Gregory's shirt collar and pulled him up to eye level.

"Eet was your fault. Your fault zat I died," he growled. "You sent zose fucking beetches to my 'ouse and told zem I could 'elp. Why? Why did you send me on a suicide mission with those assholes?" The guilt hit him harder than it ever had before. Gregory had never personally blamed himself for Christophe's death. He had blamed Eric, the dogs, La Resistance, and the town's stupidity. Never himself. Though it all made perfect sense. Christophe could have walked away without a scratch or any knowledge, and sat in his room, grounded for cussing out God, had Gregory never mentioned his name.

"I… I thought you would make it out…" Gregory choked. "I trusted your skills… The whole La Resistance thing almost seemed like a joke. I figured you would be in and out with no issues."

"A joke? 'ow low ees your opinion of me?!" Christophe was shouting now. "I risked my life and lost eet! I still risk my life for all of zese stupeed jobs! Are zey jokes too? Huh?!"

"No! Mole you have no idea how much you mean to me!" Gregory found himself shouting back.

"Sure, I mean your next paycheck, _oui_?! You and your stupeed fucking politics and business! Ees zat what I am to you, you fucking Brit?! Just business?!" Something was shining in Christophe's eyes. Were those tears? Christophe let go of Gregory's collar abruptly, startling Gregory. He fell back into the muddy slush of the sidewalk as Christophe angrily stomped away. How long had Christophe felt like that?

"Mole, please!" Gregory scrambled to stand up and ran after Christophe, following him into the town. "Mole would you just- for a second maybe- wait up- hey- Goddamn it, CHRISTOPHE!" He screamed his partner's real name, something he never did unless he was teasing him or formally introducing him. Christophe stopped yet again, but Gregory was determined to make sure he said something before Christophe could snap back.

"Is this how you really feel?" he said. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because I knew you would be upset!" Christophe said.

"So you just let it stew inside of you all these years? God, you are such a child!" Gregory found himself growing frustrated. "Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?"

"Why do you 'ave to be a beetch all ze time?!" Christophe growled back. "I am seeck and tired of 'earing you talk, going on and on what we need to do! You t'ink I do not know what we need to do?!"

"No, you don't Mole! You rush head-first into everything, you're too reckless!" Gregory shouted. "And I can never tell what you're thinking either! It's ridiculous! Why can't you act like a normal human being and cooperate with me?! Why do you hate me like this?!"

"... ***_te ne comprenez pas. Te n'avez jamais. J'ai mes raisons._" Christophe looked away and took a few slow steps away again. Oh no. What had Gregory done? Even if he didn't admit it, Christophe could still be fragile. And Gregory had just yelled all of his hatred at him. An ache of guilt struck him, harder than the guilt he had felt when he found out Christophe blamed him for his death.

"Mole-"

"Fuck off."

"Please, I swear-"

"_Non_. I do not want to 'ear eet." Another step. Another. He had to stop him. Tell him that was just honestly worried. Gregory grabbed Christophe's wrist and once the Frenchman's head turned back with a sharp glare, Gregory leaned up and kissed him, softly but full of the meaning his next words held.

"I love you Christophe." Gregory took a few deep breaths after his confession, aware of many things, including the transparent shapes his hot breath took in the air and the loud thumping of his heart pounding blood to his face, which grew hotter as his blush steadily rose. The only thing he focused on though was Christophe's face. His dark eyes were wide with something, and his breath seemed to catch in the back of his throat. What was that reaction on his face? Shock, surprise, confusion? Christophe blinked, slowly at first, then back to normal speed. He was staring Gregory down, studying his eyes and reading his face. After a while, Christophe's expression turned into an unexpected one- hurt.

"Drop ze act _mon ami_. Eet would make things easier for both of us." Christophe turned his back on Gregory one last time and walked down the sidewalk without so much as a side glance over his shoulder. What was happening? Gregory couldn't move. He just felt pain, so much pain. His legs began to shake and Gregory leaned his side on a nearby wall to steady himself. His mind swam as he clutched himself tightly, as if that would keep in his sobs and keep out the cold. All he could focus on was the disappearing figure of Christophe DeLorne, and wonder what he had said that made him so upset, and why he didn't believe Gregory loved him.

"It's not an act," he whispered to himself, tears slowly rolling his cheeks. Maybe he could tell Christophe that. Would a heartfelt apology and tears make his confession seem more real? Gregory just wanted a clear answer, even if that answer was "no". He pushed himself off the wall, steadying his weak legs to run after Christophe. Before he could even move another inch, a pudgy hand holding a damp cloth clamped over Gregory's mouth. He gasped in surprised, taking in the scent. Chloroform. His eyes fluttered shut as he fell back into the waiting arms of Eric Cartman.

(A/N: Well... ready for the next chapter? Reviews please! French words.

*- ... good morning..?

**- ... why are you watching me sleep?

***- ... you don't understand. You never will. I have my reasons.)


	14. Chapter 13

(A/N: Pre-chapter warning- this will contain violence. Not super graphic because I don't know how to be super graphic but... hey. There's torture up ahead. Just thought I'd put up a warning.)

A sharp pain woke Gregory up from his drug-induced sleep. His blue eyes slowly focused the scene around him as his senses and memories returned. A fight. Christophe. Heartache. Eric. The serial killer stood in front of him, a pout set on his chubby face.

"Goddamn, I thought you weren't ever going to wake up," Eric said. "It's not fun to kill someone in their sleep." Gregory felt his teeth grit in anger. What in God's name

was wrong with Eric? He tried to lash out at him, but discovered he was hanging by his wrists, which were handcuffed above his head. The cold metal bit into his skin with each struggle.

"Yeah, they're my mom's," Eric shrugged. "She uses them with people sometimes. Like once, I saw this video of her with and-"

"I don't bloody care," Gregory said, his voice hoarse. This earned him another slap from Eric.

"Ey! Don't you interrupt me! Fucking British faggot…" Eric scowled. "Still think you're so goddamn tough. Well your little boyfriend isn't here to save you now."

"No…" Gregory felt his cheeks grow hot at the mention of Christophe. "No, Mole wouldn't abandon me like that, even if we had a little spat."

"Yeah, whatever. is outside so that pussy French kid will be waving a white flag before he even thinks about saving your ass," Eric scoffed. Gregory's heart fell. The guard dog. He saw his dream flash before his eyes and his vision grew watery. His whole body shook softly with silent sobs, making the chains of the cuffs clink. Eric noticed this and smirked, obviously happy at how much pain he was causing Gregory.

"You're… a goddamned… monster…" Gregory breathed.

"Why thank you fag," Eric said. Gregory felt intense anger and hatred replace the heartache inside of him. No wonder Stan, Craig, and Tweek wanted Eric dead. He was the type of person that everyone just loved to hate. Plus he was a killer. If it wasn't already his mission, Gregory would certainly stab him through the heart with his beloved sword. He watched angrily as Eric waddled over to a chest of items, rummaging around until he pulled out a long black coil. He unrolled it and flicked his wrist. _Snap_. Gregory flinched and actually felt himself pale in fear as Eric approached him with a whip in his hands and a smug look on his face.

"Sometimes I'm so glad my mom's a whore," he said, then flicked the whip at Gregory. He instinctively turned away, but he felt the whip reach his shirt and tear it. Another crack sounded and Gregory felt like he had been slashed across his cheek. He gritted his teeth in pain, not wanting to scream and indulge his torturer. The whipping became faster though, and even more of Gregory's shirt was ripped open until the lashes began to hit his bare chest. He allowed a single gasp before trying to hide the fact that each new crack hurt more than he could imagine and his salty tears were stinging the wound on his cheek.

"What's the matter pussy?" Eric said. Gregory could hear exhaustion in his voice, probably from whipping him for so long. "Should I go harder on you?"  
"No!" The plea left his mouth before Gregory could even stop it. He looked at Eric, who was grinning. The fat bastard was grinning! He was enjoying this immensely. However, he put the whip down.

"Alright alright. I'm not so heartless," Eric said, his sincerity sickeningly fake. "That's enough of that for now." He pulled out two knives, the long serrated kind usually used for steak, and slowly approached Gregory.

Eric Cartman didn't belong in this time period. No, he belonged back in the time when Nazis were the enemy, when people would "Heil!" him, or maybe he belonged when torturing was completely sane and practiced, or even sometime between 3000 BCE and 500 CE, a section of the more violent times of history. He would've been a better seeming person back then. Back then, no one would bat an eye as he stabbed one knife through Gregory's leg, pushing it through until it hit the wall on the other side, then did the same to the other leg. Not many would find it cruel that he repeatedly smacked Gregory across the face with a wooden plank. No, even tying rope around Gregory's neck and tightening it, then untightening it just before Gregory could blissfully pass out wouldn't have seemed inhumane. Gregory had tried to stay strong in the beginning for the sake of his pride, but he was broken. Eric had broken him, made him plead and scream and cry for his life like he had never done before. And the fat boy enjoyed every little whimper that came out of Gregory's lips and how he flinched with just a poke. Gregory was shaking from many things, but mostly pain. He watched as Eric got out a well polished butchers knife that gleamed even in the dim lighting of wherever he was.

"Don't worry, you're almost done," Eric said softly, as if he was mockingly comforting a child that lost its balloon. He walked over and lifted Gregory's leg, rolling up his pant leg and taking off his shoes. Gregory was in too much pain to try and fight Eric, or even weakly kick him. The knife blade was placed on his Achilles tendon and Gregory closed his eyes, waiting for the pain. It was a short, sharp shock that came as a large gash was cut into his heel. Gregory screamed as he felt blood immediately leak from the wound. From his medical training he knew that the cut was fatal. There was no saving him now. Eric slashed his other heel open, prompting another scream.

"That should do it," Eric said, then stood back and sat down as if he was about to watch a puppet show.

"I'm so sorry Christophe…" Gregory murmured, barely able to think through the pain.

"Shut up fag," Eric commanded. "Like I said, your stupid pussy boyfriend isn't coming."

"And what would make you zink zat *_putain_?" A dangerously low, gravely French accent growled. Gregory lifted his head just enough to see that the room he was in had an entrance, and in it stood Christophe DeLorne. Eric stood up quickly, shock and anger twisted on his face.

"What the fuck? Ey, how'd you get past ?" he yelled. Christophe held up a lump of… something.

"Ze dog was not much of a challenge," he said, dropping the lump that landed on the ground with a sickening thump. Gregory realized that it was the head of Eric's guard dog. "Where ees-" Christophe made eye contact with Gregory and his eyes widened in shock. "Gregory…"

"Chr-Christophe…" Gregory managed to say audibly. "You-" He coughed and felt blood dribble out of his lips, as if he hadn't lost enough already.

"**_Non… Je suis trop tard…_" Christophe's breathing seemed to grow irregular as he stared even more at Gregory, taking in his whole body. Gregory saw his expression go grim as Christophe grabbed his shovel. "You… you did zis to Gregory…"

"Is that my dog's HEAD?" Eric asked. He had been staring at the bloody lump of flesh for a while, and just returned to reality. "What the fuck dude?!"

"What ze fuck? What ze fuck, are you asking me zat?!" Christophe growled, approaching Eric. "Zat ees TAME compared to what you did to Gregory! And compared to what I about to do to you." Eric only had enough time for the weight of Christophe's words to sink in before he was whacked upside the head with Christophe's shovel. Gregory watched as Christophe mercilessly beat Eric, slamming his face until it was unrecognizable and jamming the pointed end into his fat stomach, drawing blood even with the dulled end. With a shriek of rage, Christophe swung the blade of the shovel down on Eric's neck. Even in his dimming vision, Gregory could see that Eric was long past dead. His forehead had been dented inward and blood spouted from his broken throat. Christophe gave his face one final whack out of pure fury, then after a few heaving breaths, looked at Gregory and nearly broke down.

"Gregory…" The brunette dropped his shovel and rushed to Gregory, touching his face all over as tears began to form. "_Non_… _non_ you cannot be… zis ees all my fault. I should 'ave never left you alone-"

"Chris," Gregory interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't worry about me. I…" He felt a rush of lightheadedness from all the bloodloss and nearly blacked out, but he fought to stay alive. Just one more word with Christophe. "I'm a lost cause."

"_Non_, Gregory, we can-"

"No." Gregory's voice was heavy. "We can't." Christophe looked into Gregory's dulling gray blue eyes, and his dark one began to spill hot, wet tears. Christophe didn't cry easily. The only time Gregory had seen him seriously cry was when his mother officially disowned him. Gregory cried along with him, with the last of his strength.

"Kiss me Christophe," he breathed. "Please." Christophe seemed confused at first, but then gently, shakily leaned up and placed his lips on Gregory's. The signature nicotine taste that was Christophe was drowned out by their salty tears. It didn't matter so much to Gregory though. When Christophe pulled away, Gregory felt himself slipping into oblivion. The last few ounces of his blood were seeping out of his wounds. Gregory locked his gaze on Christophe one last time.

"… love…" he managed one last word before his entire body went limp from dead weight. Each sense shut down. Christophe's face disappeared from sight. The feeling of pain of the cuts and bite of the handcuffs faded. The dank metallic stench of his blood that had filled the room was gone. He could no longer taste the salt of his tears. Right before his hearing joined the rest of his senses, he heard Christophe say one last thing to him.

"_Je t'aime…_"

(A/N: ... please don't kill me guys. I swear this story is NOT over. No, because I'm not THAT cruel. Arguably. Review and wait until Monday to find out what is in store. French.

*- whore(I think. It's some type of dirty insult)

**- No... I'm too late...)


	15. Chapter 14

(A/N: I promised there would be more, didn't I? Well here you go. YES I DID JUST KILL GREGORY BUT DON'T WORRY HE IS OK. Kinda. Just read.)

Was this how Christophe had felt when those dogs killed him? Gregory was very unaware of his surroundings. It was almost like he was trying to find his bed in the dark. His feet moved, careful, and he could tell his every move but never touched anything. His senses were returning to him again, this time in the opposite order. Voices began to swim around him, small snippets of conversations. He took a deep breath and a smoky taste filled his mouth, then burned his nostrils. An uneasy heat began to oppress him and Gregory nearly wished he was back in the frigid mountain town climate. Finally, his vision snapped on with a gasp. He was in a room filled with flames that licked the wall but couldn't burn it. A boy with jet black hair sat in a throne, reading something off a list with a bored tone.

"And furthermore, even if you hadn't killed anyone, you're not a Mormon so you can't get into Heaven anyways," the boy said. He then turned his attention to Gregory. "Wait a minute. Hold up." He snapped his fingers and Gregory jumped in surprise. Four more people had suddenly appeared in the room and he knew all of them. One was a red head of average height. His ginger curls glowed with the fire of the room and he had abandoned his green scarf and orange coat for a more temperature-appropriate T-shirt. It was Kyle Brovflaski. He saw Gregory and he looked at him questioningly. Another person in the room was a smallish blonde boy with baby blue eyes that stayed fixated on his slightly taller sandy haired counterpart. Butters Stotch and Kenny McCormick, both whom seemed happy to just be around one another. Kenny saw Gregory and a look of pity flashed across his face. The last person in the room was someone he had hoped to never come across again.

"Haha!" Eric Cartman bellowed, pointing at Gregory. "You're dead too! And you went to Hell too, probably for being a fucking faggot. Ahaha!"

"How'd that shovel to the neck feel chap?" Gregory asked in a low tone. Eric looked shocked and Kenny started snickering.

"Yeah, can it you fat fuck," he said, then smiled to Gregory. "Thanks for killing him. Oh, and by the way, this is-"

"Butters and Kyle," Gregory said. "It's very nice to meet you two. Shame that we're all dead."

"W-Well yeah I guess it is," Butters said, bumping his knuckles together. "Kenny was tellin' us what you're like."

"Yeah, I remember you from fourth grade," Kyle said. "La Resistance and all." Gregory nodded. He was long past something as childish as that though. Now there was mercenary work. "How's that other guy?" Kyle asked. "The French dude with the shovel, uh… The Mole?"

"Le Mole," Gregory said. His chest began to ache all over again and he clutched his shirt. "Christophe…"

"You love him, don't you?" Kenny asked. Gregory looked at him surprised.

"How did you-"

"Ken's got a real good eye for things like that!" Butters piped up. He grinned, but then frowned. "Well hey that ain't too happy, you bein' dead while he's alive and all. I know how that feels." Butters looked down at his feet and Kenny put an arm around him. Kenny looked at Gregory, then at the boy with jet black hair. They stared at each other for a while, then the boy sighed.

"No," he said.

"Goddamn it Damien why not?!" Kenny said. "I always used to come back to life!"

"It's different for you," the boy, Damien, said. "You were the child of Cthulu Kenny. You had 10,000 chances at life, and now those are all used up."

"Can't you make an exception?" Kenny asked. "Look at how miserable he is!"

"Yeah, and he helped bring down Cartman," Kyle chimed in. "That's gotta count for something." Damien frowned, looking like he wanted to refuse them again, but Kenny and Kyle looked at him so pleadingly. He grumbled something and stood from his throne, passing Eric and pushing him aside. Eric disappeared from sight, though where to Gregory didn't know. Damien approached Gregory and looked him over carefully, studying every aspect of him. Gregory watched him as well, looking at his dark clothes and pentagram necklace. Suddenly, Damien's eyes widened slightly.

"DeLorne," he said in surprise. Gregory was both excited and confused.

"You know Christophe?" he asked eagerly.

"Of course I know him you pathetic mortal," Damien scoffed. "His disdain for God makes him one of the only bearable humans to be around. I can smell his cigarettes on you." Saved by smokes. Who would've guessed?

Christophe and Damien turned out to be long time friends, having met the brief time Christophe was dead. Damien had told him with a smug face that he was in Hell, to which Christophe replied "Good, I did not want to spend ze rest of eternity with zat beetch God." Instant friendship. Normally, Damien told Gregory, he wouldn't help anyone and let them suffer because he liked that. But he owed Christophe a favor and he was repaying it through Gregory. The two of them stood in a dark candlelit room, Damien barely visible.

"Are you ready?" he asked Gregory. The blonde nodded in reply. Damien took a deep breath, then the door to the room burst open.

"Wait!" Kenny said. Damien shot him a deadly glare.

"McCormick this is a very sensative ritual-"

"We wanna send some messages back to the living," Kenny said.

"This is not some fucking postal service!" Damien growled. "Now leave before I-"

"Satan said we could."

"Satan is not in charge anymore! I am! Just because he's my father doesn't-"

"Gregory, just tell them that we're all doing well," Kenny said. Kyle popped up behind him.

"And tell Stan that I miss him, but I want him to keep living," Kyle said. "I love him."

"What the fuck did I just tell you two?!" Damien yelled. "Scram or he's not going back at all!" Kenny and Kyle quickly disappeared, closing the door behind them. Damien sighed.

"Just because Kenny knows the place so well doesn't mean he has any authority," he muttered. "Now, again. Gregory? Your consent?" Gregory nodded. He wasn't allowed to speak but he knew Damien could see him. The dark clad boy nodded, then began to speak in a low voice. Gregory didn't know what he was saying- it wasn't any mortal tongue so far as he could tell. It was harsh, cold, and abrupt, like whips and chains around his body and throat. Gregory broke into a cold sweat as the chalk drawing beneath him began to glow red, adding an eerie glow to the room that highlighted Damien's features, showing that he had grown taller, darker, and had horns twisting from out of his hair. He began shouting the language, wind ripping through the room and blowing out all the candles until the only source of light was the chalk. At the last moment, Gregory locked eyes with Damien. His eyes glowed the same deadly red color.

(A/N: Hey, look at that I brought Gregory back to life. Ain't that fan-fuckin'-tastic. No Christophe in this chapter so no French. This story is nearly over, just 2 more chapters left I think. Review please! Thanks for sticking around!)


	16. Chapter 15

(A/N: Well guys... this is the second to last chapter. I'm a bit sad here, I was so happy with this story and now it's nearly finished for you guys. Saddening. Enjoy.)

Gregory's eyes shot open, though they hadn't even been initially closed. He felt a pain from his heels slowly fading as his breath and heartbeat returned to him. He noticed that he wasn't where he remembered he had been when he died. He was lying on the ground with his arms were folded across his chest. A thought suddenly struck him- where was Christophe? He turned his head to the right and nearly screamed. Christophe was kneeling, turned slightly away from Gregory. His whole body shook with audible and visible sobs as he bit down on the cold metal barrel of a revolver. His eyes were squeezed shut as if that might stop the constant flow of tears.

"*_Je suis désolé .. Je suis tellement désolé Gregory... Je t'aime, et je vais être avec vous très bientôt..._" he choked, his beautiful voice mangled and heavy with emotion. The safety of the gun was off. Gregory's eyes widened. He couldn't be brought back to life for one reason and have it taken away from him straight away. Christophe's shaky fingers tightened on the trigger.

"**_Adieu... mon amour…_"

"LOVE, NO!" Gregory leapt up from his position and pushed the gun out of Christophe's mouth just in time. The gunshot rang in the empty air and the bullet tore a hole in the wall, but neither of them noticed. Christophe's tears had stopped in shock, but Gregory was crying instead, scared of what had just narrowly been avoided. Christophe's hand went limp, the gun clattering to the floor. In a second they had fallen into each other, tightly embracing while both sobbed. Gregory could taste his own tears stream into his open mouth and his shoulder grew wet from Christophe but he couldn't care less. After a long time, they drew apart and Christophe looked him over.

"Gregory… Gregory 'ow are you alive?" he asked, gently touching all over Gregory's face to make sure he was real. "I watched you die… you 'ad no pulse… your 'eels-" He looked at where the wound had been and saw nothing but flawless skin.

"I came back," Gregory smiled. "Everyone who died, they were all so grateful… that they sent me back because…" He took a deep breath. His last confession hadn't worked, so this one had to be different. "Because you mean the world to me Mole. I don't know when it happened, but I slowly realized that I love you. And I'm not going to do this act anymore because it's too painful. Please, just-" Christophe leaned forward and quieted Gregory with a kiss. It started slow at first, both of them savoring each other, then it took a deeper turn and Gregory found himself lying underneath Christophe as he drew back.

"_Je t'aime_," Christophe breathed. "Ze act… was 'ard for me too mon cher. I 'ave loved you for so long and zat was torture for me." He kissed Gregory again, traveling his lips up and down his neck. "_Je t'aime…_"

"I love you too," Gregory said. He was happier at that moment than he had been when he got into his top choice college. Christophe crawled back and allowed Gregory to sit up, and they embraced again before standing up. Gregory glanced at Eric's dead body which lay discarded on the ground, covered in bruises and welts with a good number of nasty gashes. There was one right between his eyes that Gregory guessed had been the final blow. He picked the revolver off the ground and put a few bullets in Eric's chest. Maybe it was unnecessarily cruel, but Gregory didn't care. Eric deserved every bit of it.

Eric's body was found the next day by the police, who classified his death as "homicide" but didn't try to find his killer. Stan, Craig, and Tweek stood outside the yellow tape, watching the police drag Eric's body out of the front door. Gregory and Christophe stood more off to the side, close but not precisely touching. It seemed as if everything was the same as before, but it wasn't. The air between them was different. Stan walked over to them once the cars began to drive away.

"Thank you dudes so much," he smiled. "I can't even really tell you how much this means to us."

"Yeah thanks for killing Cartman," Craig said.

"GAH! Jesus Christ Craig you can't just say that out loud!" Tweek shrieked. "What if someone heard you?!" Craig shrugged, not caring in the slightest. Gregory smiled.

"Well, business is business," he said. He took Christophe's hand and gave it a slight squeeze. Christophe looked at him curiously, then grabbed his waist and pulled Gregory into him, kissing him passionately. As much as Gregory enjoyed it, he pushed Christophe off, blushing uncontrollably.

"Damn you Mole!" he scolded. "Not in front of clients for God's sake!"

"Ze French are very passionate people," he said. "And I will do nozing for zat beetch."

"Called it," Craig said. He turned his head slightly and kissed Tweek softly, nearly making the poor blonde faint. A sad look crossed Stan's face, and Gregory remembered the messages he was supposed to deliver.

"I have some, well, interesting news," Gregory said, catching everyone's attention. "I actually died."

"... you're fucking with us," Stan frowned.

"No, no I swear I'm not!" Gregory said. "Eric killed me. Christophe saw, I was dead." The attention was on Christophe now, who nodded.

"_Oui._ No pulse. Pale. 'E was dead for a while," he confirmed, then looked at Gregory. "'Ow did you come back to life _mon cher_?"

"Damien," Gregory replied. Recognition flashed across Stan's face, though he was still a bit confused.

"The son of Satan kid? He brought you back? Why?"

"Apparently he knows Christophe," Gregory said. Christophe nodded again, but didn't say anything about it. "Anyways, I also saw Kenny, Butters, and Kyle when I was there."

"You saw Kyle?" Stan's eyes lit up.

"Yes," Gregory said. "He said that he misses you, but you should keep living without him because he loves you so much." Stan smiled sadly, his eyes wet.

"I miss him too," he said. Gregory placed a soft hand on his shoulder, and Stan nodded in appreciation. He got a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Gregory. Gregory took it from him and looked it over. It was a cheque for five million dollars. His eyes widened at the large amount and he tried to force it back into Stan's hand.

"This is much more than we agreed upon!" he exclaimed. "How did you even get this much money?!"

"We all chipped in," Stan said, referring to Craig and Tweek. "Well, Tweek provided most of it, considering he's co-owner of an actual business." Tweek jumped slightly at his name, then offered a nervous but genuine smile to Gregory.

"It really- gah!- does mean a lot to us!" he said. Gregory smiled and pocketed the cheque.

"Our pleasure," he assured them. "I'm glad to you all off safely, and I pray that no one like Eric ever comes to this town again." With a polite nod and picture perfect smile, Gregory left the three with Christophe at his heels.

"We can leave zis stupeed town now, _oui_?" he asked hopefully. Gregory shook his head. There was one last thing he needed to do.

(A/N: WAHHHH JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS REALLY. It's... well. Thanks for sticking around and all. The next update will be on Friday instead of Monday. I'll see y'all then. French translation.

*- I'm sorry... I'm so sorry Gregory... I love you, and I'll be with you soon...

**- Goodbye... my love...)


	17. Chapter 16

(A/N: Well guys, this is the last chapter. It's short and sweet. I was thinking about having this whole speech thing at the very beginning but that would bore you so just enjoy and either cry or rejoice that this story is now over.)

A bouquet of asters. They had been Wendy's favorite type of flower.

"_Why an aster?" Gregory had asked. "Why not something more poetic, say, a rose or violet or lily?"_

"_Those are all pretty too," Wendy nodded, smiling. "But asters seem so simple, yet sophisticated. There's camomile asters, celeste asters…"_

"_You're a very interesting girl Wendy darling," Gregory said, flashing her a smile. "I like that very much about you." Wendy giggled and reached out for his hand, and the two discussed maturity and intelligence for hours._

She had seemed so full of life back in the fourth grade. Now Gregory stood in front of her tombstone, placing flowers in a small vase with water on the ground in front of it. He bent down and ran his thumb over the lettering. Wendy Testaburger, a loving daughter and caring friend. She had gotten twenty-two years of her life in. He sighed sadly.

"Requiescat in pace," he said. Gregory heard the slight crunch of frozen grass being walked on come up behind him. "Did you put Kyle's flowers down?" he asked.

"_Oui_. 'Is grave was not too 'ard to find," Christophe said.

"You didn't leave any cigarette butts at it did you?"

"Beetch. *_Avoir un peu de foi en moi._"

"Of course love," Gregory laughed. He stood after giving Wendy's grave one last lookover. "Are you ready to go?"

"_Oui_," Christophe, a huge smile of relief on his face. "Let's get ze fuck out of zis stupeed town." Gregory laughed again and gave Christophe a small kiss on his cheek. He had forgotten to shave. The Frenchman took his partner's hand, and then two of them proceeded to walk through the town. They had packed all of their belongings the night beforehand, so all they had to do was check out of the dingy hotel, motel, whatever it was, load their bags into the car, and leave South Park behind forever. Gregory looked out at the small town with a slight smile. He hated the place. Abhorred it. But he couldn't deny that there were good memories here.

"What are you waiting for beetch?! Let's go!" an impatient Christophe yelled from the car.

"Coming love," he said, then got in the driver's seat. As he started up the car, he heard pounding on his car window. After a small jump of surprise, he looked and saw an exuberant Stan standing outside the car with Craig standing behind him holding a passed out Tweek. Gregory rolled down the window with a puzzled expression.

"What on Earth happened to Tweek?" he asked.

"Well now that I know that fatass is gone," Craig said, "I proposed to him. And he fainted."

"You dudes have to stay for the wedding," Stan grinned. "It's only happening because of you two anyways." Gregory thought for a moment, then looked over at Christophe with an apologetic smile.

"It seems that we're staying here for a bit longer Mole," he said. Christophe narrowed his eyes in annoyance and got out his cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag.

"Sheet."

(A/N: It's over! It really is! I hope you guys liked it, and click onto the NEXT chapter to see and vote for what might possibly be my next fanfiction. We'll close this out with French translations.

*- Have a little faith in me.)


	18. Previews?

Hey guys! If you clicked to this chapter it means you're up for reading snippets/ideas for my next fanfiction! Yay! Well I can really only do one long term fanfiction at a time so please tell me what you like best.

Bunny/Kenjorine thing: There's a new, oddly familiar and flat-chested girl in South Park and Kenny is determined to get her alone. Besides that, does anyone know where Butters has gone?(Ok so this is a very rough idea still but it might be interesting if I flesh it out)

Zombie Apocalypse AU(because why not, zombies): I actually have a bit of this written so you can have a preview. It won't be any particular pairings throughout it, except Clybe and TokenxWendy(idk what that's called since its so rare). Also, because it's a zombie apocalypse there will be deaths and you will be able to choose who dies between two different options.

At least they had gotten a little lucky. They had been on a plane back home when they had to make an emergency landing. Someone on their plane had turned out to be infected. Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny had managed to grab some supplies from the plan and get out the exit slide that had been at Kyle's window. Cartman's phone had some power left and after some convincing he had agreed to let them use the GPS to get them back to South Park. After two days of walking, according to the phone, they were close. So close. But if Stan had to eat another airplane cookie he might hurl.

"Stop, stop, guys stop," Kyle said. "Kenny isn't doing so well."

"I'm fine," Kenny said, slightly muffled through his thick sweatshirt that he had swapped for his childhood parka. Kyle was right, Kenny didn't look so hot. He stumbled forward and was unusually pale.

"Don't be stupid Kenny," Kyle frowned. "You need to eat more than any of us. Here." Kyle got out a small bag of pretzels and gave it to Kenny. Cartman scowled and tried to snatch them for himself but Kyle slapped his hand away.

"But I'm hungry too!" Cartman whined.

"You could stand to lose a couple pounds fatass!" Kyle said. "Unlike the rest of us, Kenny doesn't get as much to eat, so he needs the energy! You can just survive off your blubber!"

"What, so he gets pretzels just because he's the poor kid?" Cartman threw his hands into the air. "I knew we should've never made the stingy Jew rat be in charge of food rations!"

"Shut up fatass!"

"Don't call me fat you fucking Jew!"

"Guys, calm down!" Stan got in between the two, sensing an huge argument. They didn't need that right now. "Look, the town is still ten miles away. We need to just keep going. There should still be food there." He looked pleadingly at his two friends. With a noise of frustration, Kyle turned and walked away. Cartman was about to make some cruel remark, but Stan whacked him and gave him a disapproving look, then walked after Kyle.

"Yeah, you go after your little boyfriend!" Cartman called. Kyle whipped around but Stan turned him forward.

"Not now dude," he whispered.

"I really fucking hate him," Kyle muttered. "I wish the person on the plane had bitten him."

"But he has the GPS. We need him," Stan said. Kyle took a deep breath and nodded, calming himself down. Stan put a hand on his shoulder and smiled, earning a smile in return.

Scholarship Student: Oh look at that as soon as I finished one Gregstophe thing I'm off thinking of writing a new one. Again, I've got a little bit written so you can have a preview. The basic premise will be Christophe is Yardale's first scholarship student and Gregory has been assigned to show him the ropes.

"Come in," the man said to the person knocking at the door. A boy with soft blonde hair entered the room, quietly closing the door behind himself.

"You wanted to see me sir?" Gregory asked. He wasn't scared, like most kids were when they were called to the headmaster's office. Gregory would never be reprimanded. Yardale loved him too much. The headmaster smiled to the boy, putting at ease even further.

"Yes. Please, have a seat Gregory," he said. Gregory sat, back straight and black-gloved hands in his lap. He didn't speak though. The headmaster was supposed to speak first. The very man cleared his throat as he shuffled some papers on his desk.

"How long have you been at Yardale my boy?" he asked.

"Since first grade sir," Gregory replied promptly. "I would have been here for kindergarten but you don't offer it."

"Fine answer," the headmaster smiled. "So ought to know this place like the back of your hand."

"Yessir."

"I thought so. And how are your grades?"

"I still have a 4.0 GPA."

"Excellent! I expect nothing less from you Gregory. You're our prize student. That is why I am going to give you a special task."

"Sir?"

"Yardale is accepting its very first scholarship student. His name is Christophe DeLorne and he seems to have potential to be a fine young man like yourself. His mother is single though and short on money. But is such a wonderful athlete that Yardale decided to take the risk and let him in. However he isn't a model student like you are, so I would like to ask you if you would please show him the ropes and guide him along the right path?" This wasn't a question. This was yet another assessment from Yardale to see if Gregory could handle it. He smiled cooly.

"Of course sir."

He could handle anything.

Alright so please tell me what you think of these ideas/previews and if you'd like to see any of them become more! Also thank you all for sticking through my whole story, I really appreciate it. Have a catface :3


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